


Drops in the Ocean

by Glitterinchaos



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, DCBB, DCBB2020, Dean/Cas Big Bang 2020 (Supernatural), F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, caretaker!Dean, dumbasses in love, homeless!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:34:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 149,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27503893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glitterinchaos/pseuds/Glitterinchaos
Summary: With a storm surge on the horizon, Dean Winchester needs to get home, but he can’t ignore the feeling in his gut urging him to turn around. The awkward, hoodie-clad homeless man has already disappeared from his rearview mirror yet something draws Dean back. Maybe it’s the fact that the guy looks lost in more ways than one, or maybe it’s something behind those intense, ocean blue eyes, but either way, Dean can’t leave the guy stranded in the impending downpour.Castiel Novak is running away from his problems. Far away. It’s a decision that made sense at the time, but with his resources running low, no place to stay, and the sky about to rain down on his head, he’s beginning to rethink his life choices. All seems lost until a green eyed local offers him a place to stay dry for the night.This chance meeting between two strangers shifts the course of both their lives in a way that neither could’ve ever expected, and as they struggle to deal with the secrets of their past while navigating their relationship into the future, they come to find that maybe together they’re the perfect storm.
Relationships: Castiel/Cole Trenton (past mentions only), Castiel/Dean Winchester, Ellen Harvelle/Bobby Singer (past mentions only), Jody Mills/Bobby Singer (minor), Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester (past mentions only), Sarah Blake/Sam Winchester (minor)
Comments: 189
Kudos: 441
Collections: DCBB 2020, Destiel ✦ The Road To Freedom, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Readers! 
> 
> After the absolute clusterfuck that has been this year, I am thrilled to finally be able to hand over my DCBB 2020! This story goes out to all my fellow Destiel shippers who never gave up on our ship in the same way that Dean and Cas have never given up on each other. Congratulations, friends - DESTIEL IS CANON!!!
> 
> While I have dedicated countless hours to this fic (seriously, I don’t want to know how many), I never would’ve been able to do it without my amazing betas, Kay and Mel. I owe them a million-and-one thank you’s and a whole boatload of gratitude because this story never would’ve existed (and almost didn’t) without their unending love and support. I question every day how they’re able to put up with me. ***But I will say this always - thank you for showing up exactly when I needed you and I love you, tooooo.
> 
> To my artist, Lostloona - thank you for making my words come to life and for the beautiful artwork you created for these boys! The talent in this fandom never ceases to amaze me and I’m so grateful that a piece of it belongs to this AU. Please go give her all the love. You can see her amazing art [here](https://lostloonaspnartrec.tumblr.com/post/634500541741973504/art-masterpost-for-dcbb-2020-title-drops-in-the)
> 
> Special Note: The two cities that serve as the main setting in this story are fictional, and if their names have any connection to real places, it is entirely unintentional. I wanted to maintain artistic freedom while I built this AU for Dean and Cas; however, the setting is heavily inspired by real places in Northern California. If you're curious, the most notable is Bodega Bay - a city I hold very dear to my heart. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for choosing to venture into this story! I poured my heart onto these pages and fell in love with this verse. I can only hope you do, too!

“What’re you still doin’ down there, ya idjit? Get outta there and go close up.” 

The command is as gruff as the man issuing it.

He nudges at a pair of boots sticking out from under the belly of a 1987 Ford F-150, but when there’s no immediate response, he gives the bottom of the left boot a swift kick. 

“That ain’t a suggestion, boy. That rain’s about to roll in overhead right quick and there's sure to be lightning along with it. You gotta death wish or somethin’?”

From on his back and hidden underneath the truck’s engine, Dean rolls his eyes at Bobby Singer, the owner of this old auto repair shop that he calls a business, but Dean knows better than to talk too much sass. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m comin’. Hold your horses.” Using the old, rusted creeper, he slides himself out from under the truck, sitting up and giving Bobby a grin as he uses a dirty rag to wipe the grime off his palms before tossing it to the side. He lifts a hand and proudly pats the front bumper. “She’s gettin’ there. I should be done with her soon.”

Bobby huffs out an annoyed grunt. “Well, since you’re so insistent on fixing that old piece of junk, make sure you put the tarp on her… and tie it down _tight_ this time. Rain’s comin’ in fast.”

Dean watches Bobby retreat towards his private office without another word, presumably to finish some paperwork before leaving. The responsibility of closing up the rest of the shop tonight falls on Dean, so he puts away his tools and finds the large tarp, throwing it over the truck and tying it down to keep it from getting drenched in the coming storm. 

The truck sits under a rectangular tin shelter that provides shade for most hours of the day, but it’s an open structure and exposed on all four sides, which means it’ll be mostly useless if the wind picks up and the rain comes in sideways. The exterior of the truck can get wet, of course, but there are some windows that still need replacing, and he has no desire to clean the interior… _again_. He learned his lesson after a windstorm swept through a few months back. The dirt and debris were hell to clean. 

Bobby doesn’t understand why Dean’s going through all the effort of restoring the F-150, and he’s said as much time and again. He grumbled and griped when Dean brought her to the garage, but after some shameless pleading, Bobby ultimately allowed him to make space at the shop for her - Bobby really is a big ol’ softy at heart, but he’d kill anyone for saying so. 

Dean found the truck abandoned on the side of a backroad about half a year ago, and after local law enforcement ran the VIN number and contacted the owner, the guy told Dean he could have her so long as he didn’t have to deal with getting her towed and Dean covered all the expenses, including the transfer of registration fees. By that evening, she was hauled to the back lot of _Singer Auto_ , and Bobby’s been complaining about her ever since. But it’s no matter because Dean’s proud of the work he’s done with her. The truck was undriveable, useless, and barely worth the scrap parts holding it together, but all Dean could see was potential. And now? Well, now he’s nearly ready to drive her off the lot thanks to his own two hands. He has absolutely no clue what he’s going to do with her when he’s done (another point that Bobby’s made on several occasions), but he’ll figure it out. He knows he will.

Dean finishes securing the tarp just as the first clap of thunder roars in the distance and the sunshine gives way to thick, black clouds. Looks like Bobby wasn’t wrong about that storm, not that Dean doubted him. 

As he’s putting away the excess rope he used to tie down the tarp, the tinkling pings of raindrops begin to hit the tin shelter above his head, a slow melodic rhythm at first, but by the time Dean grabs the dirty towel he’d discarded earlier and heads for the shop’s indoor garage, the intensity of the rain has already picked up. 

Raindrops pepper the ground outside while he walks through the nightly closing procedures and standard safety checks to make sure that all the tools and vehicle parts are secured and ready for the next morning. Satisfied, he flips off the lights and enters the front reception area through the side door that connects the garage to the small customer lobby. Considering the weather and the fact that it’s past closing time, Dean’s surprised to find someone standing just inside the front entrance, back turned to the lobby as he stares out the windowed door towards the street. 

The sky has really opened up now, and the rain is coming down in droves as the wind pushes it slantways. It’s an ominous sight, the late afternoon dark with thunderclouds lining the sky as far as he can see. The news reports have all said that this storm is just the beginning of what promises to be an incredibly strong storm season. The weather has been abnormally mild the past few years, so Dean supposes it’s well past due. 

“Hey man. I’m sorry but we just closed up shop for the night,” he apologizes. 

The guy is dressed in an old pair of running shoes, ill-fitting cargo pants, and a blue jacket that he wears over a maroon zip-up hoodie, a light blue button-up shirt beneath that - he’s wearing several layers, none of which are well suited for the buckets of water currently being dropped outside. Keeping his eyes down, the guy slowly turns towards Dean and appears bewildered and confused. Dean follows the man’s line of sight and glances down to see a large, dirty backpack sitting atop one of the lobby’s chairs. 

“Is there something I can help you with?” Dean asks. 

“Uh… I just, um…” The man is caught off guard and unsure of himself. He finally glances up and Dean’s eyes meet his for the first time and holy shit. _Blue_. Not just blue, but a deep sapphire blue unlike anything he’s ever seen. Their gazes lock and Dean has to be the first to look away, it’s all he can do to keep from staring. 

Dean takes a moment to survey the rest of him. He’s got a scruffy beard that’s at least a week or two old, dirt on his nose, and discoloration around his left cheekbone and under the eye. He looks like he’s seen better days, but his eyes still shine brighter than anyone’s Dean has ever seen. It momentarily makes his brain stutter to a halt as he takes in the man standing before him, but he recovers quickly. 

“Listen, I gotta get some paperwork done and send a few emails. You’re welcome to hang out here for a bit and wait out the rain. Should pass us over pretty soon. This one’s not stickin’ around for long.” Dean can see the man’s shoulders relax at that information. 

“That would be— yes, thank you.” The stranger looks awkwardly around the lobby for a moment, as if he’s just now realizing where he is, and Dean wonders if he simply ducked into the first door he could find when the rain started. He then takes a seat on the chair nearest to the front door and fidgets with his hands before finally retrieving a tattered book from his backpack.

Dean walks behind the desk and logs into the computer. He really does have to get to those emails, but when he chances a peek towards the door, he sees that the man isn’t reading, he’s staring out the window instead. 

“You got somewhere you need to be?” Dean asks casually, partly because he’s genuinely curious and partly because small talk seems like the polite thing to do, friendly customer service and all that. 

“Not really,” the guy answers with a jerky shrug of his shoulders, eyes never leaving the window. He doesn’t elaborate and opens his book as if he’s about to read it, effectively ending the conversation before it really begins. 

Alright, so that’s a no on the small talk then. Got it.

Dean decides to ignore it and gets to work on the emails, but more than once he catches himself stealing glances at the man in the hoodie. Sometimes the guy’s mindlessly running his thumb along the edges of the book, making a soft whirring sound with the pages, and other times he’s eerily still. One thing’s for sure though, he hasn’t read a single sentence.

What’s his deal, anyway? He seems worried, maybe even scared, though that might be a bit presumptuous. Dean briefly wonders if he’s homeless, but he’s not so sure. There’s just something about him, something _different_. He’s awkward and out of place. This area gets its fair share of hitchhikers and passersby, sure, but never ones who look quite so... lost. Certainly never ones with eyes quite so blue, but that’s beside the point, of course. 

San Seton is a quiet, quirky little town where hippy meets midwest, a rural community a couple hours north of San Francisco. It’s a far cry from the city life, but it’s not quite the country, either. Around here, everyone sorta knows everyone else, but folks tend to keep to themselves. It’s where Dean’s done most of his growing up, and if Bobby were to say anything about it, it’s where he’s still got some growing up left to do. 

As a teenager, he wanted nothing more than to get the hell outta Dodge, as does every rebellious teen who calls these roads home, but as a man in his early twenties with a bit more life experience and a lot more perspective, it ain’t so bad. 

Everything in this town is familiar and comforting, making outsiders easy to spot, so it’s not difficult to conclude that the stranger in the lobby isn’t from around here. And though he’s intrigued, it’s really none of Dean’s business one way or another, so he pushes aside his curiosity and continues to work. If he happens to work particularly slowly and takes his time hoping the rain will pass before he finishes, well, that’s no one _else’s_ business but his own. 

Before long, the downpour eases up and as if by magic, the clouds begin to clear and the sky brightens. 

Dean can see the man shift in his seat. 

“Well look at that, that’s some pretty epic timing,” Dean beams. “I just finished up here and looks like those clouds did, too.” 

The stranger looks up at Dean, concerned. “You think it’ll come back tonight? The rain?” Dean detects worry behind the words. 

“Nah. Not tonight. Supposed to be a pretty intense couple of weeks though. This was only the beginning,” Dean answers, carefully trying to read the guy’s expressions. 

“Oh.” The man stands up and turns his back towards Dean, looking out the front doors again. He’s silent for a minute and Dean begins to wonder what he’s thinking and if he ever plans to actually leave the shop, but then he speaks again; “I didn’t realize.” 

“Realize what?” 

“Just how dark it can get.” He glances back at Dean with an unreadable expression settled across his face. 

Dean isn’t sure how to respond. He assumes the dude is talking about the clouds, but something ever so slightly tugs at his chest, telling him that maybe those words aren’t about the storm at all. 

“Anyway, thank you for… well… just thanks.” He looks up through his lashes at Dean, his eyes bluer than an hour ago, if that’s even possible, and lifts the corner of his mouth in a barely-there shadow of a smile. 

“Yeah man, no worries.” Dean watches as the guy shoves his book back in the backpack, zips it closed, then hoists it up over his shoulder. “Hey, you gonna be— ...okay?” Before the sentence is finished, the stranger is out the door.

Dean walks to the front and steps out onto the sidewalk, the blue-eyed man already out of sight. In his place he finds that there’s a bright rainbow arching across the sky and he shakes his head as he smiles to himself. 

It’s been a very long time since Dean’s seen a rainbow that vivid. 

He steps back inside and shuts down the computer, files away the last of the customer paperwork, double-checks that everything is properly closed up, and clicks off the lights. Finally locking the front door behind him, he turns to face Egret Street, the main street that runs right through the heart of the town, and looks down the road in both directions. To the right is the town center, where the majority of shops, restaurants, and small businesses are situated. The sidewalks and outdoor seating spaces are mostly empy thanks to the rain, but the area is typically bustling with people. Down a few blocks and right around a short corner is also his favorite bar, The Roadhouse. To the left, the street ventures into the more residential area of town, Singer Auto being at the end of the main drag and the last of the large businesses along that street. 

It’s clean and crisp outside, and although the night promises to be chilly and perfect for watching a movie in bed, Dean decides to take advantage of the fresh air and the rejuvenated energy he feels with it. He turns right and, sticking his hands in the pockets of his jacket, he heads towards The Roadhouse. As he walks the short distance, he can’t help but wonder where his stranger went. Not _his_ stranger, obviously, but all the same, he wonders. He scans the shops and business, especially the eateries, looking to spot the dude, mindlessly hoping he’s had at least one decent meal today. 

But the man in the hoodie is nowhere to be seen. 

Dean rounds the corner and crosses the asphalt to end up at the front of the bar. He takes a brief moment to glance up and down the street one last time, pausing before he opens the door, his body giving way to an unintentional shiver as he ignores the ping of disappointment at the absence of a maroon hoodie... and sapphire blue eyes. 

He reaches forward to push his way inside when the door suddenly swings open without his assistance. From the other side pops a guy sporting a mullet, nearly knocking Dean back a step. 

“Hey Dean-O! I was wonderin’ if I’d see you tonight! Been a minute, man.” 

Ash, one of the more seasoned bartenders here, gives him a hearty slap on the shoulder as he steps past Dean, holding the door so they can switch positions in the entranceway.

“Hey, Ash. Thought I’d pop in before heading home tonight. Ellen in there?” He juts a finger towards the back end of the bar. 

Ash scoffs behind a knowing smile. “Where else you think she’d be? Listen, I gotta run to the bank for her before they close or she’ll have my ass. I was supposed to go two hours ago. You gonna hang out a bit? I’ll come back!” He finishes the question without waiting for an answer as he takes off in the direction Dean just came from. He’s in a hurry but doesn’t quite run, although looking at the time, he totally should. Ash just might have the laziest urgency Dean’s ever seen, either that or he’s the most energetic stoner, but who knows which. Whichever it is, Ash is out of sight and Dean turns on his heel to head inside. 

The Roadhouse is more crowded than usual for a Thursday night, probably due to the locals finding an escape from the sudden downpour and deciding to use it as an excuse to stay for a couple rounds. Not wanting to be in the way, he finds an empty barstool towards the far end of the bar and takes a seat, scanning the room for any faces he might recognize.

No maroon hoodie in here either… not that he was expecting one. 

From the opposite end of the counter, he hears a familiar southern drawl coming from the man standing behind it. He didn’t know Benny was working tonight. Hell, he didn’t know Benny was back in town - he’s been in Louisiana visiting his family for the past few weeks. A damn call would’ve been nice. 

As if he can hear Dean’s internal grumbling, Benny spots him and walks towards him. 

“Hey, Dean. How ya been, brother?” Benny reaches out his large hand and when Dean shakes it, Benny pulls him across the bartop and into an enthusiastic half-bodied hug, Dean happily returning the embrace. 

“I didn’t know you were back - why didn’t you tell me? I’d have come by sooner and we coulda grabbed a bite or somethin’.” 

“Aw man, listen to this. I flew in late last night and called Ellen first thing this morning to ask her to put me on the schedule as soon as possible... I was here an _hour_ later.” Benny chuckles and shakes his head like he should’ve known better, and he definitely should have. “In the last twenty-four hours, I’ve seen more of this place than I have my own bed.” 

As Benny speaks, and without skipping a beat, he wipes off the countertop and grabs Dean a bottle of his favorite beer, a stout called Blue Thursday. Ellen, the fearless leader of this establishment, gets it shipped in from a lesser known brewery in Kansas. Dean was skeptical at first, rarely trusting all the new brewers with their overconfidence and disappointing unoriginality, but one sip of the Blue Thursday and he was hooked. He sometimes wonders if Ellen keeps ordering it just for him, but he doesn’t want to ask because, well, he doesn’t want to know the answer, so he keeps on drinking it and recommends the stout to anyone who’ll listen. 

Popping the top off, Benny slides it over to Dean who takes a long, appreciative pull from the chilled bottle. It goes down smooth and it’s perfect. It’s never too cold for a cold beer. 

“That’s rough. So, she got you workin’ shifts all weekend or what?” Dean asks, suddenly aware of how much he’s missed one of his best friends. 

“Yeah, pretty much. I don’t mind it, though. Figure I’ve got a lot of making up to do. Ash was basically left unsupervised while I was gone, so I need to assess the damage and all that. Besides, it’s just a bunch of laundry and unpacking waiting for me at home anyway. I’m good here. Plus, I’ve missed the tips,” he says with a wink.

Benny’s always been the type to take things as they come, never overthinking or overcomplicating things. He’s laid back, tells it like it is, and doesn’t stress over shit like work schedules and angry customers - Dean’s always admired and maybe even envied him for that. It’s an attitude that makes him a great bartender. It also doesn’t hurt that he’s a big dude, so no one tries to start anything when he’s there... usually. 

A couple of young women walk in and Benny excuses himself to take their drink order. Dean settles in and enjoys his beer, the siren call of the weekend so close he can taste it in the way his cheeks tingle with the bitter stout. Feeling relaxed, he fishes his phone out of his front pocket and responds to a text from his little brother, one that’s been sitting unread since lunchtime. Sam, who’s currently attending Stanford on a full-ride scholarship, the brainiac, always makes sure he’s checking in on him. It gets annoying and though he won’t admit this to anyone, Dean wouldn’t want it any other way. 

Sam tells Dean that he’s headed to the library for a study group and they text for a couple of minutes before he’s got to go. Just as he clicks his phone off, Benny returns with a fresh Blue Thursday in his hands. He wiggles it at Dean and raises his eyebrows in question. 

“Yeah, sure. I’ll take one more before I head home,” Dean answers. He’s still gotta work tomorrow and while he’d love to stay and hang out, he’s exhausted and there’s a pair of flannel pajamas at home calling his name. Benny pops the cap off the beer and slides it over, resting his hip on the edge of the countertop, giving Dean the impression that he’s got a minute to spare. “So how’s the family?” 

“They’re good, real good. Spent most of my time out there spoiling my niece and nephew and the rest of the time eating as much crawfish as I could possibly handle. Must’ve gone to at least four different crawfish boils.” Benny absentmindedly pats his belly as a fond smile spreads across his face. “Ain’t nothin’ like it, let me tell you.” 

“Sounds amazing, man. I’m happy you got to take the time off.”

“And he got paid for that time off.” A woman’s voice interrupts from behind Benny. “But now he’s getting paid to work.” The woman turns to Benny and shoves a towel in his hand. “There’s a set of clean glasses that need to be restocked and Rufus over there, grumpy as ever, needs a refill.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Benny responds before turning a guilty look towards Dean. 

“I’ll text you later and we can grab a bite soon,” Dean says as he lifts his beer up in salute.

“You just make sure you two are doing that on your own time,” the woman says, glaring directly at Dean.

“Aww, come on, Ellen. He’s your best employee and you know it. Why you gotta bust his balls like that?” 

“Watch your mouth, young man, and come over here and give me a proper hug.” Ellen moves out from behind the bar and Dean stands to wrap his arms around her. “Hiya, baby. Good to see you. Bobby got you workin’ too hard?” 

He squeezes her tightly before letting go. “Nah, not too bad. We’ve been busy, but I’ve been staying late this week trying to get my truck up and running. I’d like to finish her up before winter really sets in, if I can.”

“Last I saw, she was lookin’ good. But is everything else okay? You need anything?”

“I’m good. Promise. Hey, you uh… you didn’t happen to see a guy in here earlier, maroon hoodie, kinda scruffy, carrying a big backpack?” Dean doesn’t know why he asks, but the question comes out before he has a chance to second guess it. 

“Doesn’t sound familiar, why?” 

“No reason. He stopped by the shop just as I was closing up and thought he might’ve been headed this way, is all.” It’s mostly true. 

“Sorry baby, no. But listen, I gotta get going. Ash just walked in the door and that boy better have gotten to the bank on time or so help me…” 

Dean leans in and gives Ellen a light kiss on the cheek. “Good luck with that.” 

“You go home and get some rest. I’ll see you Sunday for dinner at Bobby and Jody’s.” Without another word she leaves to go corner Ash, who Dean seriously hopes made it to the bank on time, for his own sake. 

He takes a few more minutes to finish his beer. Before he leaves, he catches Benny’s eye and gives him a nod from across the room, not daring to tempt Ellen’s patience considering he doesn’t yet know Ash’s fate. He flashes a twenty-dollar bill and puts it on the counter with a flirtatious wink, placing his empty bottle on top, and then he’s out the door.

His walk home is quick, the cold air nipping at the apples of his cheeks and the tip of his nose, causing him to lose feeling in most of his face by the time he reaches his front door. Luckily, he doesn’t live far; just behind the garage, as a matter of fact. 

It’s a small, two bedroom home, sitting on the same property as Singer Auto. Bobby had it built for himself when he was a bachelor and just getting his business up and running, but when he married Jody, they moved into a larger home across town. Bobby used it as a sort of combined office space and storage unit after that… until Dean came along and needed Bobby’s help. Dean’s been living there ever since, going on three years now. It’s not a glamorous living, that’s for sure, but Dean could do a whole lot worse. And he almost did. 

***

The next morning Dean gets to the shop a little early, the optimism of it being a Friday providing a natural levity to the day, even before the coffee kicks in. He usually works on Saturdays, but Bobby gave him the weekend off. Technically, he always has Sunday off, but it’s nice to add a work-free Saturday to the rotation for once. San Seton is a small enough town that many businesses are still closed on Sundays, but it’s a tradition that’s fading fast. Bobby, however, being the old stubborn man that he is, refuses to give way to _corporate pirates trying to take away a man’s right to have a damn day off._ (Yet Dean usually finds him in the shop on Sundays “making exceptions” anyway).

After running through the morning routine and before switching on the neon ‘OPEN’ sign, he hurries out back to check the truck for water damage, not that he expects any. It wasn’t much of a storm last night, more like a quick downpour before it moved on, but another, much larger surge is expected to hit sometime tonight. He’s reinforcing some knots when he’s interrupted. 

“You finally figure out how to properly tie that tarp down?” Bobby muses from the doorway to the garage, coffee mug in hand.

“This might surprise you, but I can actually manage not to be a dumbass on occasion.” 

“You’re right. That does surprise me.” 

“Har har,” Dean mocks back. He knows Bobby’s just giving him shit which, coincidentally, usually means he’s in a good mood. Feeling brave, Dean pushes his luck. “How about while I’m out here in the cold, you pour me a cup of that coffee? I know Jody made you the good stuff today and I know she makes enough for you to share.”

Bobby lets out a bark of laughter. “Well would ya look at that. You’re funny sometimes, too.” 

He takes a deliberate sip from his mug while he walks back into the shop and Dean knows damn well he’s not going to see that cup of coffee unless he gets it himself. 

The day presses on and although he’s kept busy, it drags on in that long, drawn out way that Fridays usually do, when he looks at the clock expecting two hours to have passed only to see it’s been a whole fifteen minutes. He’s been assigned to work the front desk today, his absolute least favorite thing to do. It’s usually Garth’s job, but Garth is working the Saturday shift and has today off, and Cesar is in the garage with Bobby working on an old station wagon. 

It’s not that he’s not good with customers, because he is - he’s charming as hell when he needs to be. It’s just that he’d much rather be elbows deep in the hood of a car than plastering on a sometimes-fake smile while handling walk-ins at the front desk, taking phone calls, and filling out customer forms all day. Customer service is exhausting in a way that cars never are. Cars don’t give an attitude or make unreasonable demands. Cars don’t get emotional or ask stupid questions. Cars just… are. They’re like puzzles and figuring out what’s wrong with them is just as satisfying as fixing them. So yeah, the front desk sucks. 

Until it doesn’t. 

Dean’s helping one of their regulars, Mildred, with a couple of questions she has about her new Corolla. It’s only two years old, less than ten thousand miles and runs perfectly, yet she always manages to find an excuse to come into the shop. (It’s funny how her questions always seem to come up when Dean is working the desk. Go figure). He doesn’t mind, she’s actually pretty funny and generally harmless. Dean’s always assumed she’s also a bit lonely and spends her time making casual friends at various shops around town. 

Mildred finally parts ways, promising to bring Dean some of her homemade apple fritters next week. 

As she exits the door and he calls out his goodbye, he notices a man standing on the opposite side of the street. It’s _that_ man, and he’s still wearing the same maroon hoodie, the blue jacket held in his hand. In fact, he’s wearing all the same clothes from yesterday, only furthering Dean’s suspicions that he might be homeless. 

While Dean processes this information, the guy looks up and they make eye contact through the shop’s windows. They hold a stare for a moment and then, without thinking, Dean lifts his hand in a silent wave. The guy tilts his head ever so slightly to the side and tentatively returns the gesture, but he doesn’t smile. 

Just as quickly as he appeared, the man walks out of sight. Dean has the strangest urge to run out the front door and go after him, but why? What’s he going to say? What would he do? He nearly gives in to the urge anyway, but just as he’s about to step out from behind the desk, the phone rings and he remembers that he’s on the clock and has a job to do. He does his best to shake the unsettled nerves prickling at the back of his neck and he answers the phone. The man doesn’t come back.

The work day finally ends, Bobby promising to close up tonight so Dean can get his weekend started. He would normally take at least an hour or two and work on the truck, but he’s not about to dismantle the coverings he so carefully secured just to have to tie it all down again. Instead, he decides on going to The Roadhouse knowing Benny’s on shift tonight, but when he grabs his jacket and walks out the front door, his feet don’t take him there. Within a few minutes, he finds himself sliding into the front seat of his car, instead. 

He needs to drive. 

It’s too chilly to drive with the windows down, but he does it anyway, relishing in the sting of the wind at his face. He’s headed towards Bagyo Bay, his favorite place on the planet (well, at least of all the places he’s been, which actually isn’t many). San Seton is only about a thirty five minute drive from the ocean, twenty seven if he guns it, and the closer he gets to the water, the more the smell of the salty air relaxes him even as the air grows colder. 

Bagyo Bay is a small community nestled right on the rocky coastline and tucked away from the bigger cities in this part of the state. It’s quaint and beautiful and old and charming. The drive there can be described in much the same way, long and winding and full of trees until they eventually give way to rocky cliffs and scenic bluffs. About ten minutes outside of San Seton, the main city road comes to a ‘T’ and Dean takes a right, letting his wheels rumble over the worn asphalt of the coastal road as it weaves in and out along the bay. It’s a drive that requires patience and demands attention, not just for it’s curves, but for its views. 

Dean never minds the drive. It calms him, restores him. He finds a kind of solace in this place that he’s never found anywhere else. Whenever he feels stressed or upset, or when he simply needs to clear his head, it’s the bay that calls to him, it always has. The salty air, the rolling waves, even the seagull cries bring him peace of mind, and like the reliable comfort of a familiar song, Dean feels the tension in his shoulders slowly release the closer he gets to his destination. 

Aside from the gorgeous coastline, the road into and through Bagyo is speckled with shops and restaurants, all local, no recognizable corporate chains or flashy signs, just small establishments, mostly all family owned and operated. One of his absolute favorite places is a short way off the main road and right on the water. It’s a small hole-in-the-wall joint at the marina where several sailboats and small fishing vessels are anchored, and it serves the greatest clam chowder Dean has ever tasted. On a good day, the line is out the door and around the corner, full of locals and outsiders alike.

Driving out here, Dean doesn’t have a particular goal or plan in mind - he usually doesn’t - but something in the air triggers his taste buds and he finds his way to the restaurant, though it’s probably more accurate to call it a hut than a restaurant. He parks his car and taking a long, deep breath, he rolls up the windows and heads towards the line. Just like everything else in Bagyo, the place is old and rustic, not at all fancy. Weathered wooden tables and benches are set up in an open patio area outside. There’s no seating indoors, just a counter where orders are taken. Dean gets in line. 

He rubs his hands together and blows on them to warm them up. The sun is going down and with it, the temperature. He can tell that the storm that’s been brewing all day isn’t too far off, but he’s got some time to enjoy his food and the view before he’ll head back and hunker down for the night. The line isn’t too long at the moment and he’s just about to step into the building when he looks up and spots a familiar maroon hoodie off in the distance, the occupant of the hoodie seated at a bench facing the marina. 

No. I couldn’t be. There’s no way his stranger would have been able to travel from San Senton to Bagyo Bay on foot in just a few hours. Maybe he has a car? 

“Next up!” The woman behind the counter calls, pulling Dean from his thoughts. 

“Yeah. Sorry. Hello,” he responds, hoping it wasn’t obvious that he was staring. 

“What can I get for ya, darlin’?” 

“I’ll take a clam chowder and a tri-tip sandwich. Actually…” Dean doesn’t know what he’s doing until the words are out, “...make it two of each, please. And two waters.” 

“Coming right up.” 

Well, too late now. That’s done. He pays and then steps to the side and waits for his order to be called. Meanwhile, he looks back out at the bench and the man still sitting on it, and now that he's had the chance to take a longer look, Dean is sure it’s him, the guy’s backpack is at his feet. When his order is called, he thanks the woman behind the counter and takes both bags in hand, passing through the patio and heading for the other bench. 

Dean gets nervous as he approaches, second guessing his instinct to order a second meal, but Dean is good at this sort of thing - talking to strangers, turning on the charm and strumming up a conversation - he doesn’t always like it, but he’s good at it. 

“Hey there,” he begins, standing next to the stranger. 

The man looks up and his eyes go wide in recognition, quickly turning from surprise to confusion as he looks at Dean and then behind him, as if to decipher where Dean appeared from and how. 

“Um. Hello,” a deep voice replies. 

“Mind if I sit?” The man doesn’t respond verbally, but he scoots himself over on the bench, making room for Dean next to him. “I’m the guy from yesterday. From the auto repair shop?” he says. 

“Yes, I remember.” The guy looks back out towards the water. Dean isn’t sure if he’s already bored of the conversation or if he just assumes that’s the extent of it. 

He tries again. “My name’s Dean.” 

Glancing back and waiting a moment, the man eventually responds. “I’m Ca— ” He’s interrupted by a brief coughing fit and when it’s over, he answers more clearly. “My name is Steve.” 

“Nice to officially meet you, Steve. So, what brings you out here? You a tourist?” Although he thinks he knows the answer, he’s not going to assume the guy’s a vagrant. Maybe he’s just a lonely passerby. Or he’s lost. Or he’s any number of other things.

“Sort of. I guess.” 

“Headed any place specific? Visiting family or something?”

“No.” The answer is firm and more abrupt than Dean was expecting. “I mean… I’m just passing through,” he recovers. 

“I see.” Dean knows he’s touched a nerve and feels a bit guilty about it. He waits to see if Steve elaborates, but he doesn’t, he just stares out at the water. Well, here goes nothing. “Hey uh, you hungry? I have some clam chowder and a sandwich. I certainly can’t eat it all myself and was wondering if you wanted to help me.” 

“What?” Steve’s eyes grow wider than before as he looks down at the bowl of soup Dean is pulling from the brown bag. He’s at a loss for words, but quickly declines. “No. No, thank you.” 

Dean isn’t fooled. He notices the way Steve’s eyeing the food. The man is hungry, and Dean knows it, and he’s not about to let him turn it down. “Have you ever had their chowder?” he asks, throwing a nod to the restaurant behind him. “It’s the best you’ll find in all of Northern California, I promise you that much. And I really can’t eat this all on my own. Here.” He sticks out the bowl and a spoon, not giving Steve much of a choice other than to at least take it in hand. 

Steve looks stunned as Dean then pulls a sandwich out and sets it on top of the bowl. Satisfied that he’s managed to make it this far, he pulls the second brown bag into his lap and takes out his own bowl of soup and sandwich, setting the two water bottles down between them. 

Steve watches, clearly confused. “This is two meals.” 

“Yeah. I told you I couldn’t eat it all on my own, didn’t I? I love food and all, but even I have my limitations.” Dean throws a satisfied smile towards Steve.

“But… I can’t…” he hesitates. 

“You allergic to shellfish or something?” Dean asks. 

“Well, no.” 

“Then what’s the issue?” Dean pins Steve with a friendly but challenging look. When Steve blankly stares back, Dean elaborates. “Listen, the extra food was for a friend of mine who was supposed to meet me here. He couldn’t make it but I had already ordered. And the chowder isn’t nearly as good reheated, it deserves to be savored hot and fresh.” It’s only a partial lie. 

Dean pops the lid off of his own container and begins to eat. He feels Steve’s eyes linger on him, but not for long. He smiles to himself behind his spoon when he hears the lid pulled off the other container. 

They sit on the bench and eat in comfortable silence as they look out at the water. 

When Dean speaks next, most of his soup and half his sandwich is already gone, Steve’s meal similarly devoured. “So, where are you from?” 

Steve finishes chewing his bite of sandwich before he answers, and Dean thinks he intentionally slows down, delaying his ability to respond. “Washington… state.” The reply is tentative, and Dean makes a mental note to tread carefully. 

“You’re a ways away from home, then.” 

“Yes, I suppose.” 

If the guy is going to stick with short, vague answers, Dean reckons the next best thing is to offer information on himself, even the playing field. “I’ve lived here most of my life, since I was nine, at least. Well, not _here_ in Bagyo, but in this area.” 

“You grew up in San Seton?” Steve asks, setting down his sandwich and turning to face Dean for the first time since he approached him. 

“Yeah. Mostly. Did you grow up in Washington?” 

“My whole life, aside from living elsewhere for college. This is the first time I’ve… it’s the first time I’ve left on my own.” He lets out a long sigh, as if he’s contemplating his entire existence in one breath. “Anyway, thank you for sharing the food. It was… it was delicious. Please tell your friend that it did not go unappreciated.” He begins to wrap up the remainder of the sandwich and place his trash in one of the brown bags sitting at his feet. 

“Hey, uh, I’m not trying to be presumptuous here, but, uh, do you have someplace to stay tonight?” When Steve’s eyes snap up to meet his, nervous and fearful, Dean realizes his question came out all wrong. “It’s just that there’s a pretty nasty storm headed this way and by the looks of it, it’s going to make landfall within the hour. So if you’re headed somewhere, you’ll want to get there quick. I can drive you, if you need a ride.” 

“Oh.” Steve looks down at his backpack, then at the dark storm clouds rolling in, and then back at Dean. “I have somewhere,” he says, suddenly avoiding eye contact again while he busies himself with his backpack, adjusting it before he picks it up and hoists it over his shoulder. “I better get going then.” 

Steve is standing in front of him now, hand extended. Dean accepts it, the handshake firm and deceptively confident, but it’s the eyes that give him away. His hands are soft and solid, not calloused and rough like Dean’s own, and they are surprisingly warm despite the cold air. Dean finds himself holding on perhaps a second too long, captivated by the way Steve’s long fingers gently envelope his palm. “It was nice to meet you, Steve.” 

“You, too. And thank you, again, for the food.” And with that, he walks away. 

Dean watches him leave and cleans up the remainder of the trash, tossing it into a nearby trash can. The wind blows and a shiver runs from his feet up through his spine, reminding him that he needs to get home and soon. He pops the collar on his leather jacket and pulls it tight around him. The temperature feels like it just dropped several degrees and he quickly jogs to his car, eager to escape the cold. 

Before taking off he gives one final glance towards Steve, who’s walking quickly in the opposite direction. There’s no car in sight and Dean realizes that he’s walking away from town. There’s no nearby hotel or even campsite down the road he’s headed, not within decent walking distance, anyway. Dean’s got half a mind to get out his car and chase after him, but the dude’s a grown man who already said he has somewhere to go. Who is Dean to call him out on that? 

So he turns the ignition and heads out of the parking lot, a little speck of maroon in his rearview mirror and an uncomfortable weight knotted in his gut. 

Dean makes it ten minutes before the worry finally overtakes him and he can no longer ignore it or reason it away. He’s gripping the steering wheel far more tightly than necessary and the nagging feeling beating against the inside of his chest is too much. It’s as though a physical force is tugging him back to the marina.

Dean pulls off on the next turnout and flips a bitch. The sky is dark and threatening and he really needs to get home - this narrow two-lane road is a nightmare when it’s raining, let alone during a big storm - but even the slight possibility that Steve really doesn’t have some place to stay tonight, well that thought makes him feel sick. Dean guns it back towards the restaurant. 

By the time he gets back, Steve is nowhere to be seen, so Dean drives along the back road, the one Steve had been walking down. It only takes a few more minutes of driving before Dean spots him, still walking alongside the road. He slows his car and carefully pulls up next to him, rolling down the passenger side window. 

Steve notices the vehicle and bends down to see the driver. His eyes grow big in surprise. “Dean?” 

“Listen, I’m not trying to be a dick here or anything, but I’m gonna be blunt. The sky is ready to open up any minute and by the looks of it, you don’t have a place to stay. Let me take you somewhere.”

“I have somewhere,” Steve responds defensively, pointing ahead of him. “It’s just up that way.” 

Now Dean knows he’s lying and his heart sinks to the floor before stubborn determination scoops it back up again. “Do you know what’s down that way? It’s a whole lotta nothin’. You’ll be walking all night long before you realize that this road winds around to a lookout point and then doubles back on itself. And over that other hill? If you make your way over that way in the next few hours, you’ll find yourself wandering into private residences.”

Steve clenches his jaw as he looks ahead of him, probably trying to see if Dean’s right. “I—”

“Just get in.” Dean reaches across the seat and pushes the door open. “Please?” 

Steve hesitates and fidgets with the straps on his backpack, feet planted and unmoving. “I’ll be fine—” 

“No. You won’t. You’ll get soaked and you’ll freeze. This storm that’s coming in ain’t a joke, and I know I’m a total stranger and if you want me to drop you off someplace where you feel safe, that’s fine. Just let me take you somewhere. Anywhere that has a roof, at least.”

Steve looks down the road, then down at his feet, and then at Dean, contemplating his options. It doesn’t take long before his shoulders sag in defeat and he looks like a lost puppy, sad and afraid, and a bit skittish. 

He drops his backpack from his shoulders and slides into the passenger seat of the car. 

Dean watches him as he shifts around, trying to get comfortable with his rigid body and bulky pack. He buckles his seatbelt and stares straight ahead, not saying a word. Dean turns the car around and heads out towards the main road again, a sad satisfaction relieving the knot in his stomach just slightly. 

Before pulling onto the road, he stops and looks over at his passenger. “So. Where to?” 

Steve briefly glances at him with side eyes, but doesn’t turn his head. “I…” He looks down at his feet and even in profile, the sadness that washes over his face is heartbreaking. He finishes his sentence with a voice so small, Dean almost doesn’t hear him. “...I don’t know.” 

Dean doesn’t know why he feels so deeply for this stranger, but there’s something about him, something that screams that this whole situation isn’t right. Steve’s not some drifter who enjoys spending his time wandering from city to city. He’s lost and alone… and _lonely._ Dean doesn’t think about the nearly healed bruise on his cheek, either. It must have been one hell of a shiner, something Dean knows a thing or two about. 

“I have a couch,” he offers. Steve goes still. “Back at my place in San Seton, next to the same auto repair shop I work at.” Silence. “And if you need to be back here in Bagyo, I can drive you back once the storm clears.” More silence. “Is that okay?”

The eyes that _finally_ look back at him are a deep blue, a reflection of the storm closing in overhead. They’re full of… Dean isn’t quite sure… desperation maybe, or hopelessness, but there’s kindness there, too. They’re shiny and searching and they stay locked with Dean’s as he offers one gentle nod of his head, giving Dean permission to drive on. So he does. 

Their drive is quiet save for the radio playing low, static breaking in and out. Dean pays attention to the road and Steve stares out the window. 

When the first drops of rain lightly tap the windshield, they’re still fifteen minutes from home. Within seconds the small, inconsistent droplets give way to large, heavy pellets of rain that smack the windows in angry pelts. Steve sits up, eyes searching the sky. Then comes the first flash of lighting, eventually followed by several claps of thunder. 

Over the sounds of the storm building outside, Steve speaks for the first time since leaving Bagyo Bay. “I didn’t realize. You said there was a storm coming but… I didn’t realize.” His voice is wrought with regretful awe.

“It’s only going to get worse as it gets closer. This is why I couldn’t just leave you out there.” 

The tension that had been wound in the air eases and Steve responds with sincerity. 

“Thank you.”


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel fucked up.

He didn’t account for this kind of weather, he didn’t account for any of it. He was brash and naive and stupid, so stupid, and now this is what he gets. He’s in a precarious predicament, desperate, and… why the hell didn’t he think this through? 

_ He fucked up _ . 

The car rumbles slowly down the now familiar street. He was just here this morning, and now here he is again - just like everything else in his life, he takes one step forward only to fall two steps back.

They’re passing the car repair place on the corner and Dean turns left just before making another immediate left into what looks like a driveway leading into the back of the shop, but it’s cut off by a tall iron gate. Dean puts the car in park and jumps out into the pouring rain, running up to the gate to unlock it and push it open. The way he’s using his whole body to slide the weight of it along its track makes it look heavy, and by the time he climbs back into the car he’s already soaked. Dean rolls the car forward and parks it under a metal awning that’s attached to the side of a small house, creating a makeshift garage.

To their left and lining what Castiel guesses is the very back of the auto shop, there’s an incredible wall of stacked tires standing at least seven feet tall. The tires are laid offset, like brick, giving the wall a satisfying geometric pattern, and there are green grass-like plants growing out of the dirt that fills the spaces in between. If it weren’t for his current heightened state of awareness and watchful eye, Castiel might not have even noticed there were tires there at all. It’s an intricate and impressive use of upcycling. 

“Here we are. Home sweet home,” Dean says with obvious pride, raising his voice so he can be heard over the sound of rain pelting the metal roof above them. 

_ Dean _ . 

What does Castiel even know about Dean, anyway? Other than the fact that he grew up around here and he works at the auto place next door, basically nothing. He’s attractive, but that’s absolutely the last thing he needs to be thinking about right now. The guy could be a serial killer for all he knows, no matter how green and beautiful his eyes are. 

Until very recently, Castiel used to think he was a good judge of character but the last few weeks have really shot that idea to hell. He can’t trust himself anymore, let alone his own family, so how is he supposed to trust a total stranger? And yet… he just kind of  _ does _ . There’s something about Dean that seems to put him at ease. He can’t explain it, but he decides he’s just gonna go with it. Besides, what other choice does he have? He’s got no one else to call and nowhere else to go.

Still, he fidgets with the straps of the backpack that sits between his legs, hesitating to exit the car after Dean kills the engine and gets out to brave another onslaught of rain in order to close the gate behind them. Castiel jumps when there’s a loud knock on the driver’s side window. 

Dean’s hair is matted down with rain, but he’s got a big grin on his face anyway. “You comin’?” he shouts through the glass. 

Castiel forces himself out of the car. They’re protected from the rain by the awning and the small front porch is thankfully covered as well, so other than having to take a few quick, unprotected steps to the porch, he remains mostly dry. He stands behind Dean as he unlocks the front door, which oddly faces the tire wall as opposed to the street.

“Is that the auto shop right there?” Castiel inquires. 

“Sure is. See that opening off to the side there?” Dean gestures to the far end of the tire wall on the opposite side of the gate they just came through. “That leads straight to the junkyard area behind the garage. It’s all the same property.” 

Castiel wonders if Dean owns the business since he lives here, but he silences his curiosity. If he asks for personal information, that would invite Dean to do the same in return and he can’t have that. The fewer questions asked, the better. 

Dean gets the door open but unties and removes his boots before he enters and leaves them on the porch, so Castiel does the same. As they step inside, Dean shrugs off his jacket. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he says, a warm smile still on his face. It’s incredibly disarming. “It’s not much and it’s pretty damn small, but it’s just me here, so it works.”

He follows Dean inside and looks around. The space is definitely small, but compared to where he grew up, most places are. The front door opens up into a living room, a plush gray couch taking up most of the space, a sturdy wood coffee table in front of it, and a flat screen tv mounted on the wall in front of that. The kitchen is straight ahead, open to the living room but separated by a countertop with two barstools sitting in front of it. It’s surprisingly cozy, though Castiel isn’t sure what exactly is surprising about that. It’s not like he had any kind of expectations other than four walls and a roof… and hopefully a heater of some sort. 

Dean scurries around picking things up as if he’s embarrassed his home isn’t tidy enough for a stranger off the street (ironic, considering Castiel is the one who hasn’t showered in at least three days). The house isn’t even messy, it’s neat and clean and  _ homey _ . It’s obvious that Dean is someone who takes great care in himself; he’s organized, well put together… and fit. With his jacket now hanging on a hook by the front door, Castiel notices Dean’s broad shoulders and the slim cut of his waist. He’s wearing jeans that fit just right, and a navy blue t-shirt that bunches at his hips. 

Suddenly, being next to Dean and standing in his perfectly hospitable home, Castiel becomes acutely aware of just how filthy he is. He can feel every single strand of his beard that’s grown in too long and he wiggles his toes against the grime on his sock-covered feet. There’s grease in his hair and dirt under his fingernails. His clothes are heavy with dried sweat and dust and the urge to wash his face is so unbearable that he wants to claw and scratch his way out of his own skin. His heart rate quickens and he feels claustrophobic, ready to scream or run or hide or  _ something,  _ anything to just get him out of here. 

But just when he thinks he won’t be able to stand another second of it, as he’s about to break down, Dean looks at him with that same warm smile as he did before and for the briefest millisecond Castiel doesn’t feel the weight of worthlessness drowning him in his failures. For that single moment, he feels like maybe things aren’t as bad as they seem. 

“You have a lovely home,” he manages, swallowing his panic and clutching his backpack with a white-knuckled grip. 

Dean mumbles a “thanks” as he rubs the back of his neck, and Castiel swears his cheeks tint pink. “So uh, you’ve pretty much gotten the grand tour just from where you’re standing. You can see the kitchen right over there and this door here to the left goes to my bedroom—” There’s a small alcove directly behind the couch, two doors on each side of it facing one another and a third door in the middle that faces the living room. “—And the door on the right is basically a storage room, and the one in the middle here is the bathroom.”

Castiel isn’t quite sure what to say. Dean’s talking to him comfortably, like they’re old friends reuniting after a while apart, but that’s not what they are at all. He’s just something that Dean picked up off the street, so he nods along, unworthy of the kindness of this stranger. 

“Oh! And by the kitchen area over there is also a washer and dryer. So I figured, if you want, you can take a shower and warm up and we can toss your clothes in the wash.” 

With that suggestion, Castiel freezes. Dean offered him a place to sleep and to wait out the storm, but a shower? Clean clothes? He hadn’t even dared to consider the possibility. “But… you’re soaking wet. Surely you need the shower?”

“Hm. Maybe you’re right. I’m dripping everywhere. Okay, give me five minutes, tops, and make yourself at home.” With that, Dean disappears into the bathroom, the click of the door closing leaving Castiel standing alone in the living room, heart pounding in his ears.

_ Make himself at home. _ Right. Nothing could be further from possible. 

He looks around the house, paying more attention to details now that he’s got time. He doesn’t want to sit on the couch in his state, so he remains standing and wanders the living room, backpack still clutched in his arms. The decor in the place is simple, nothing fancy or ornate. The coffee table looks handmade and beautifully so, the couch is clean but worn in, and the barstools are mismatched in design, but also appear to be handcrafted. On the wall opposite the kitchen, he spots a short shelf with a few photos and he goes to them. 

There are only three. The first looks like a family photo, two young boys and a set of parents, he presumes. They’re laughing and seem happy and Castiel is sure one of the young boys is Dean. The second photo is definitely Dean, maybe about sixteen or so. He’s leaning back against a shiny black car, the same one they rode in today, a proud grin on his face. In the final photo, Dean is older than in the others, but a couple of years younger than he is now. He’s standing next to a younger but much taller young man wearing a graduation cap and gown. They have their arms around each other and they’re grinning. They look like brothers and Castiel assumes they are both the same boys from the first picture. 

Castiel spends so long staring at the pictures that he doesn’t hear Dean come out of the bathroom. 

“Shower’s all yours,” he says, stepping out into the living room and making Castiel jump in surprise. Dean’s now wearing a gray v-neck cotton t-shirt and a pair of loose, green flannel sleep pants that sit low on his hips. The t-shirt rides up slightly as he lifts his arms to run a towel through his hair, revealing a sliver of skin. When he removes the towel, his hair is sticking every which way and Castiel has to tear his eyes away. Looking at Dean like that is inappropriate on every level. “There’s a clean towel sitting on the sink for you and I left a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants there for you, too. They look like they should fit. And feel free to use whatever soap and shit is in there. Oh, and turn the nozzle to the left for the hot water, but be careful, it’s kinda finicky.” 

“Dean, but… I...” and for the hundredth time today, Castiel doesn’t know what to say. Thankfully, Dean doesn’t have quite the same trouble. 

“It’s not a problem, man. Everything will feel better after a hot shower.” Dean smiles in such a way that Castiel is sure that the warmth of it would thaw frostbite. 

In the bathroom he takes his time unpacking his backpack, not a single piece of clean clothing remaining. He piles the dirty clothing on the floor and pulls out his meager toiletry bag, removing his toothbrush, toothpaste, and deodorant to set them on the counter. Next, he lines up his wallet, book, glasses case, and his phone (turned off, of course). 

This is it. This is everything he has with him. God, he was so stupid. 

He turns on the shower and peels off his grimy clothes, tossing them into the pile with the rest. He adjusts the water temperature until it’s just shy of scolding, and when he steps under the shower’s powerful spray, he has to choke back a sob against the gratitude and relief flooding his chest. Tilting his head back, Castiel lets the water run through his hair before he rotates and stands with his eyes closed and face turned upwards. He feels more than he sees the dirt and filth wash away down the drain. 

He imagines his sins washing away with it.

Castiel takes slow, deep breaths and is meticulous when he washes his hair and his body, using whatever soaps are already sitting in the shower and reveling in the way the spray massages and relaxes his muscles as he rolls his neck and shoulders in a much needed stretch. It’s the best shower he’s ever had and he struggles not to think about where he’d be right now had Dean not turned his car around. The very thought makes him sick to his stomach, so he pushes it down. 

After several long minutes, maybe too many, Castiel steps out of the shower with wrinkled fingers and toes. The bathroom is thick with steam and all he can do is stand there, nude. He looks into the mirror and is relieved when he can’t see anything through the fog of it. He’s not sure he would like what was looking back at him. 

Castiel stares at the clothes folded neatly on the counter for him. Dean’s clothes. He doesn’t think he can accept them, but one look at the sad pile of his soiled garments and he knows he doesn’t have much of a choice. Stepping into the grey sweatpants, Castiel lets out yet another silent sigh of relief - after wearing the same clothes for days, clean cotton feels like an extravagant luxury. The t-shirt he pulls over his head next is an old, faded AC/DC band tee, worn soft from use. It’s a comfort he’s not sure he deserves. 

When he steps back out into the living room, the first thing he sees is Dean covering a pillow with a pillowcase. “Hey! Did you—” Dean falls silent as he looks Castiel up and down, shifting on his feet. Castiel’s heart sinks to the pit of his already unsteady stomach. Dean regrets it. He regrets bringing Castiel back to his home, sharing his clothes, and offering this stranger to sleep on his couch.  _ Oh God _ . He knew this was too good to be true. He’s is ready to run back to the bathroom to gather his stuff and leave when Dean coughs; “—did you have a good shower?” 

“Yes, thank you. The water pressure was very nice.” 

“Isn’t it awesome?” Dean replies with a childlike smirk. 

As pleasant as Dean is, Castiel doesn’t want to delay the inevitable. If he’s going to be kicked out tonight he’d rather it be now, so he can try and find some place to wait out the storm. “Listen, Dean. I appreciate the shower and, well, everything, but if you need me to go I can just—”

“What?” Dean cuts him off. “Why would I need you to go? Have you seen what it looks like outside? It’s twice as bad as when we got here.” 

“It’s just that… if you’re uncomfortable or something, I can always—”

“Dude, no. I told you, it’s fine. I mean, I’m not forcing you to stay against your will. You can leave if you want to, but there’s no way in hell I’m asking you to.” His eyes are wide and genuine and Castiel wants to believe every word coming out of those soft, pink lips. 

“Are you certain?” He needs to be sure.

“Absofuckinglutely. I’ve already put a sheet down on the couch and there’s a stack of blankets right here for you. I have the heater on, but it’s old and it still gets pretty cold in here at night. And if you grab your clothes, I’ll get the washer started.”

“That’s—” Castiel needs to clear his throat and start again. “That’s incredibly kind of you. I appreciate all of this, more than I can say. Truly.” He swallows down yet another lump of emotion that’s trying to work its way out of him. “But at least let me take care of the laundry. I certainly don’t want you to do it for me.” 

“Deal. Then while you’re doing that, I’ll make us something hot to drink. Do you have any preferences? I’ve got coffee or hot chocolate. Oh, and I think I have some tea, if you’re into that sort of thing.” 

“Tea is actually perfect, if that’s okay?”

“Steve,  _ relax _ . It’s just boiled water and a teabag. I told you, make yourself at home.” 

Dean is so casually cool that Castiel nearly forgot he’d lied about his own name. He’s been doing it for weeks, but this is the first time he feels guilty about it. Well, he’ll be gone by morning anyway, so it won’t matter in the end. 

Dean gets to making their tea and Castiel loads the washing machine with all his clothes. They move easily around one another, almost as if they’ve done this domestic dance before, and after a short time he feels some of the tension in his shoulders melt away. They don’t speak of anything important or personal but the conversation is comfortable and by the time Castiel finishes his tea, he’s full and relaxed and clean and warm and...  _ tired _ . The exhaustion hits and envelopes him like a weighted blanket, making him feel heavy and slow. He can’t help the yawn that escapes him. 

“When’s the last time you had a good night’s sleep?” Dean asks without condescension.

“I don’t really remember,” he answers, honestly. “It feels like it’s been forever, though.” 

“Well then I say we call it a night.” Dean stands and takes the mugs to the sink to rinse them out. “That couch is super comfortable. I’ve slept on it myself more times than I can count, so I’m not blowing smoke. Your pillow is next to the blankets and other than that, is there anything you need?”

“Dean...” He searches for the right words to say as he looks into emerald eyes. They are kind and gentle and Castiel wonders what made him this way. “I… I don’t know how to sufficiently express my gratitude.” His words are cut off by a flash of lightning and a clap of thunder so loud that the windows shake and he can feel the power reverberate through his chest. 

They’ve been listening to the storm grow steadily stronger outside, but it now sounds like it’s right overhead. It’s been a long time since Castiel has been in a storm this intense and the strength of it makes him shiver. He’s always found storms fascinating; the thunder terrifyingly thrilling and the pure power a swirling, beautiful chaos. His mother always told him that storms happened when God was angry and the angels were fighting, but he never quite bought into the sentiment, though now he wonders if she was right all along. It’s a conceited thought, but he can’t help but think that this storm was meant for him, that he brought the wrath of God down upon this quiet little town, and that if it wasn’t for Dean, it’d have swallowed him whole already.

“I’m not a monster, Steve.” Dean juts a thumb towards the window nearest the couch. “I couldn’t just leave you out there knowing this was coming.”

“Yes, you could have.” The reality of the statement is a painful truth that makes his chest clench tight. 

Dean looks at him then, melancholy softening his features. They hold one another’s gaze, Castiel desperately trying to read Dean’s mind while hoping to convey his own. They stare for longer than what would be deemed normal, but another flash of lightning and boom of thunder breaks the spell. 

“Try and get some sleep, yeah? Let me get you a glass of water and I’ll put the clothes in the dryer so they don’t sit wet overnight.” Dean’s ears are flushed pink as he turns towards the kitchen. 

Castiel is laying out the blankets when Dean returns with the promised water - yet another insignificant act that has his heart swelling. It’s like Dean knows exactly what he needs. Or maybe his own desperation is such that the things he once took for granted are now small miracles. 

“So uh, anyway, I’ll be right in there if you need anything. Have a good night, Steve.” 

“Thank you, Dean. You, too.” 

Dean smiles at him as he retreats and when the bedroom door closes, Castiel crawls under the blankets and makes himself comfortable. It’s not a difficult task, considering this couch is the softest thing he’s slept on in weeks, yet he’s not able to fall asleep as quickly as he’d have thought.

He lies there, staring up at the ceiling, listening as the storm continues to rage, throwing it’s fury against the outside of the house. He pulls the blankets up to his chin and cocoons himself in the safety of these four walls. Dean’s walls. Walls that may very well be saving his life tonight. 

As sleep creeps around the edges of his mind, his mental defenses give way and he begins, for the first time all day, to truly think about the gravity of his situation, of where he’d be in this moment were it not for the help of Dean. 

Castiel’s stomach twists in uncomfortable knots at the thought of being left out in the elements with no shelter, no appropriate clothing, and no way to keep warm or dry.  _ What was he thinking _ ? The fear churns in his gut and tears prick at the back of his eyes, but he can’t fall apart now. He just can’t. So he takes a few deep breaths and swallows it all back.  _ I’m safe _ , Castiel reminds himself.  _ I’m not out there, I’m here, and there’s no use dwelling on the what-ifs.  _

Once he’s got his emotions in check, he lets the exhaustion take over, and like the tide pulls the sea, it drags him into a deep sleep. Castiel slips into blissful unconsciousness, feeling safe for the first time in a long, long time. 

***

When Castiel wakes, he’s warm and cozy. He rolls to his side and tucks the blankets up around his chin, burrowing deeper into his bed the way he always likes to do. Eyes still closed and not yet wanting to face the morning, he takes a deep, calming breath, except… he doesn’t recognize the scent that surrounds him and his legs can’t sprawl out like they normally do.  _ This isn’t his bed _ . That’s weird. He doesn’t remember sneaking off to— 

He sits bolt upright, eyes popping open and blankets falling to his waist. While his eyes try to focus and his brain attempts to clear the fog of sleep, everything rushes back to him. This is  _ Dean’s _ house. He’s on Dean’s couch. He slept here after Dean picked him up out of the storm last night.

Castiel’s heart drops to his stomach when reality sinks in - he’s still stuck in the nightmare of his bad decisions. He closes his eyes, willing to bring back those tranquil few seconds before consciousness ripped away the peace he felt upon waking.

The room is still dark, although it’s difficult to determine if that’s because the sun hasn’t fully risen yet or if it’s just hidden behind the dark, heavy clouds that he can see through the window in the living room. A quick peek at the bedroom door tells Castiel that Dean is still sleeping, so he slowly extracts himself from the nest of blankets and tiptoes to the kitchen. It’s seven in the morning according to the clock on the microwave. 

He lets out a long, slow exhale. That’s it then. It’s time to leave. The rain has stopped and surely Dean doesn’t want him around for any longer than absolutely necessary, so he collects his clothing from the dryer and deposits the pile on the couch before heading to the bathroom with a change of clothes. When he closes the door as quietly as possible, he looks up and sees his reflection for the first time in a while. His beard is longer than it’s ever been and he hates it. His hair is too unkempt and the circles under his eyes too dark. He looks like a wreck, but at least his black eye is fading and he’s clean. He feels significantly better than he did twelve hours ago. 

After he relieves himself, Castiel hesitates. He needs to change out of Dean’s pajamas and step back into his own clothes but he doesn’t want to. If he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t want to leave at all. This is the best twelve hours he’s had since he left home. Longer, in fact. Much longer. 

Regretfully, he pulls the AC/DC shirt over the top of his head and immediately feels the loss, shivering and suddenly very aware of his bare feet against the cold tile. He pushes down the sweatpants and lets them fall to the floor, forcing himself to step out of them. He almost doesn’t do it. He almost pulls them back up and goes to crawl under the blankets again.  _ Almost _ . 

God, he hates this. 

Staring in the mirror, he looks himself square in the eyes. 

_ You can do this. You have to. This is your mess, your responsibility. Pull yourself together.  _

With renewed determination, Castiel dresses himself and folds Dean’s pajamas, placing them back on the counter where he found them, resolute not to break down in tears. He then returns to the couch and folds the blankets and the sheet, taking extra care to line up the corners to make a perfect fold, as if that will somehow help to convey both his gratitude and his apology for leaving without saying goodbye. It’s better this way. 

Once his clothes are packed and he’s got on a fresh pair of socks, he looks around for a final check. His eyes fall on the kitchen as his stomach rumbles in hunger. Maybe he could grab something from the pantry before he leaves? Dean wouldn’t mind, right? 

No. He can’t do that. He can’t steal from Dean. He’ll just have to use some of the money he does have to buy a meal today because the thought of going hungry right now is too much to handle. 

Thinking of buying his next meal, he realizes that he left all of his other stuff in the bathroom. Walking back to the bathroom to gather the rest of his things, panic shoots up his spine. 

Nothing’s there. It’s all gone - his book, phone, glasses, toothbrush…  _ his wallet _ . Castiel frantically looks around, checking behind the door and then going back to the living room to check all the pockets of his backpack. 

Nothing. 

This can’t be happening. Dean wouldn’t steal his stuff. He wouldn’t. Except that… maybe he would? He doesn’t actually know the man, and of course this was all too good to be true. Of course this was going to happen. He’s such a fucking fuck up. And oh god - what if Dean really knows who he is now? What if... 

Castiel’s mind is racing. Does he confront Dean? That seems dangerous with Dean having the clear advantage here. Or should he cut his losses and run? Neither seems like a viable option.  _ Fuck fuck fuck _ . What does he do? He’s about to have a full blown panic attack in the middle of the living room.

There’s a noise at the front door. Someone is locking it from the outside. He’s being locked in. He’s getting kidnapped and there’s not a damn thing he can do about it. His phone was in the bathroom and now that’s gone, too, and he didn’t notice a landline phone anywhere.  _ Shit _ . He clenches his fists as his breath runs ragged, his heartbeat throbbing against his chest. 

There’s a click and the front door...  _ opens _ . 

“Hey, Steve. You’re up! Did I wake you when I left?” And there’s Dean, standing with a brown paper bag in one hand and balancing a cardboard cup carrier in the other. Kicking the door closed with his foot, he raises his hands. “I got breakfast.” 

“You… you what?” Castiel stands there, dumbfounded. Dean was trying to get inside, not lock him in.

“Sorry, man. I tried to be quiet getting out of here. I figured you’d want to sleep as much as possible. I, on the other hand, couldn’t sleep. I saw a break in the weather, so I made a run for it. There’s this awesome Mexican place a few blocks away and they make the best breakfast burritos. I hope you like bacon. Oh, and I grabbed us coffee, too.”

“But…” Castiel pauses, trying to readjust his thought process as his brain recalculates. So, he’s  _ not _ being held hostage? 

In that same moment, Dean looks at the packed backpack and folded blankets. “Dude, were you going to bail? Without saying anything?” 

Castiel thinks he detects a hint of hurt in Dean’s voice, but he’s still struggling to make sense of what’s happening, his emotions having gone through an entire rollercoaster in the span of sixty seconds. “Where’s my stuff?” He blurts out, frantic and accusing. 

“Whoa, hey. Okay. I put your stuff in a drawer in the bathroom, second one down from the top—” As Castiel takes a step towards the bathroom, Dean adds; “—don’t worry, your money’s all there…  _ Cas-tile _ ” 

Castiel freezes in place, then slowly turns back to face Dean, who’s still holding their breakfast in his hands by the front door, disappointment in his eyes. 

“I…” 

“Look, I didn’t ask you for a background check last night and I don’t intend to ask you for one right now, but why don’t you go grab your stuff and then come back here so we can eat and you can tell me a little more about what the hell is going on. Come on, the coffee’s getting cold.” 

All Castiel can manage is a nod as Dean sets out their breakfast on the table in front of the couch. He retrieves his stuff from the bathroom drawer, exactly where Dean told him it would be, and a quick glance tells him that nothing is amiss. He doesn’t count the cash, somehow confident it’s all there. 

He returns to the couch and shoves his stuff into his backpack, then he sits down gently, still unsure of how to feel, the panic not quite leaving his veins just yet. Dean sits next to him, a healthy amount of space in between.

“Dean, I’m so sorry. I thought you were still sleeping and I figured you’d want me out of here, so I was packing my stuff to go and then I couldn’t find my wallet and I thought—“ he says in a rush. 

“Hey, relax. I get it, okay? I should’ve just left your stuff where it was. That’s my bad. As far as the name thing, your wallet was laying open and I saw your driver’s license, but I didn’t touch your money. You can count it.” 

“I believe you.” The way the words fall out so easily surprises him, and perhaps Dean, too. 

They share a soft, if awkward, smile with one another and Castiel feels the tension ease up, his heart rate returning to normal. “I was just freaking out and I thought that maybe you were trying to kidnap me.”

Dean tosses his head back and laughs for the first time, open mouthed and pure. It’s a rich, beautiful sound, and Castiel knows instantly that he wants to hear it again. “I don’t even know how to respond to that, but if this is kidnapping, then I’m the coolest kidnapper ever. Shower and laundry services with breakfast delivery? Hell yeah. I’d let me kidnap me.” His smile is bright with humor and the way it lights up his eyes, Castiel knows it’s genuine. 

Maybe Dean doesn’t know who he is afterall. 

“Come on, let’s eat. The cream and sugar is right over there, if you want it. Don’t be shy.” Dean unwraps his burrito and leans back, not a care in the world. 

Castiel follows suit and digs into his own breakfast, trying not to moan around how good it tastes. It had been torture yesterday stopping himself from inhaling the clam chowder and sandwhich in one bite while he desperately tried to mask the severity of his hunger in front of Dean. He’d savored every bite the best he could, but that hadn’t stopped the hunger from returning this morning and gnawing at his stomach. At least now he’s able to chew more slowly and deliberately, taking his time to appreciate the simple necessity. 

They sit in one another’s company, eating in silence for several minutes, Dean clearly enjoying his burrito almost as much as Castiel. He’s finally feeling full when Dean breaks their food-induced stupor. 

“So. Cas-tile, huh?” he asks, carefully yet confidently broaching the subject. 

“Yes. Well, almost. It’s pronounced Cas-tee-elle.” He’s not sure he should be indulging in this conversation, but he aches to talk openly with someone, to connect in a way that’s more than white lies and superficial bullshit. 

“Cas-tee-elle.” Dean repeats, wetting his lips afterwards like he’s tasting the sound of it. “That’s an interesting name, but how ‘bout I just go with ‘Cas’. That okay? Or would you prefer Steve?” 

Now that Castiel knows what his real name sounds like rolling off Dean’s tongue, he can’t imagine Dean calling him anything else. 

“Cas is… Cas is fine,” he swallows. “No one’s ever called me by that nickname before.” 

“No? Seems kind of an obvious choice to me.”

“Well, my eldest brother only ever calls me by my full name. He thinks nicknames are childish and inappropriate past the age of six. My other older brother just calls me ‘Cassie’, which I’ve never liked but he’s somehow always gotten away with it,” he explains, something about Dean putting him at ease.

“Two older brothers, huh? I’ve got a younger brother myself. I also call him by a name he hates and I’m the only one he lets get away with it, too. Must be a charming older brother thing.” Dean smirks at that like he’s recalling a fond memory. 

“Is that him? The one in the cap and gown?” Castiel points to the pictures he’d looked at last night. 

“Yeah, that’s him at his high school graduation. It was a good day. He’s crazy smart and going to school at Stanford right now.” There’s obvious pride behind the words. 

“It’s a really nice picture,” he muses. 

Silence follows as they come to an impasse. The information they’ve shared so far is harmless and polite but Castiel isn’t sure if they should continue and Dean doesn’t press. They finish what’s left of their burritos and Dean stands to pick up their trash. When he returns to the living room, Castiel is standing as well. 

“I guess I should get going then.” 

“Wait, what? Now?” Dean asks, confused, although Castiel has no idea why he would be. 

“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, honestly. It’s so much more than I deserved and you’ve been so kind, but I better leave.”

“Because you have to, or just because you think you should?” 

“Because—“ Castiel begins, but Dean cuts him off. 

“Cas. Where are you trying to go? Maybe I can help.” 

“No, Dean. You’ve given me so much already and… actually, let me pay you back.” He turns to open up his backpack to get his wallet, but Dean takes a step closer and stops him with a hand to his shoulder. Castiel goes still, a spike of fear pricking at the back of his neck, but the touch is gentle and nonthreatening. 

“Alright stop. Just… would you just sit down for a minute?” Dean pleads. He sounds concerned instead of angry, so Castiel agrees and takes a seat back on the couch. “Will you just tell me what’s going on? You show up in my shop the other day looking lost as hell, then I see you wearing the same clothes yesterday having clearly not slept or showered (no offense), and then you somehow end up in Bagyo Bay last night, but as far as I can tell, you have no car. You obviously hadn’t eaten for a while and to top it off, you were about to wander off completely unprepared into one of the worst storms we’ve seen in forever. And after all that, I see that you have a big wad of cash in your wallet. Seriously, what the hell? Oh, and I haven’t even mentioned that shiner you’ve got.” 

Castiel is stunned silent yet again. He had absolutely no idea that Dean was so observant. Some of the things he mentioned were obvious, sure, but Dean noticed the faded and nearly healed black eye? That he hadn’t eaten in a while? 

“I can explain. Let me just… I’ll pay you back,” he stumbles, not knowing where to begin but finding that he really does want to explain. Castiel wants to tell Dean everything. Well, he can’t tell him  _ everything _ of course, but maybe some things? 

“I don’t want your money, Cas. I just want to understand. Are you in trouble or something?”

“Yes. I mean, no. Kind of… I don’t know.” 

“Do you hear that? The rain has already started up again and the lightning is soon to follow. This storm ain’t even close to over. Now I’ve said from the jump that I’m not forcing you to stay here, but if you need a ride somewhere, you better give me a damn good reason to take my Baby out in that weather. So, why don’t you start from the beginning?”

For the next hour, Castiel tells Dean what he can about the past several weeks of his life. He tells him how he needed to leave home and get away from his family, how he’s been hitchhiking from Washington all the way down the coast to California (and that some woman named Mildred is how he got a ride to Bagyo Bay yesterday), and how he’s trying to stay off the radar, which is why he’s carrying cash instead of using a credit card and why he never gave anyone his real name, until now. He explains that he’d started out with a great deal more money than what he has with him currently, but things happened along the way and he lost most of it. What he has remaining he’s been desperately trying to save.

As the story progresses Dean listens intently, asking questions when he deems it necessary and staying genuinely invested. Castiel doesn’t think anyone has ever paid such close attention to him in his entire life, not even his own mother. 

“You gonna tell me about the black eye, too?” Dean asks when Castiel’s story comes to a close. 

“Which one?” he slips. Dean’s eyebrows shoot up in interest, encouraging him to continue. “The first one came from my brother, Michael.”

“Just two older brothers, right? Is Michael the oldest?” he asks, and again, Castiel is taken aback by Dean’s attentiveness as he nods his confirmation. “So what happened with that? And how the fuck did you get more than one black eye?” 

“Michael, he—“ Castiel stops himself before he divulges too much. “We uh, got into an argument just before I left. Brother stuff, ya know?” 

Dean looks at him with a squint in his eyes, like he knows Castiel is hiding something, but thankfully he doesn’t pry. “Yeah, I know how brother stuff can be. And the other shiner?” 

“Well, remember how I told you that I lost a lot of my money?”

“Yeah…” 

“I was in Oregon and got picked up by a truck driver. He seemed nice but twenty minutes into our drive, he pulled over. He um… he thought I was… anyway, he tried to get me to…” Castiel takes a deep breath. “He tried to fuck me.” 

Dean sits up, choking on the sip of coffee he’d just swallowed. “Seriously?” 

“I refused and he got pissed. I fought him off but not before I took a jab to the face, effectively renewing the original injury. I got my own punch in and managed to get out of the truck, but my backpack was still inside. He dug through it, found all the money except for what little I had stashed in a hidden pocket, and threw it back at me. Said I owed him for ruining his night.” 

Castiel has never spoken a single word of that story until now and he doesn’t even know why he’s told Dean. The humiliation he feels makes his face grow hot and he can’t look up from his hands that are twisting in his lap. He can’t look at Dean. 

“Cas…” 

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” he says, still looking down. “And now you know about the double black eye and also why I’m hoarding my remaining cash.” 

“You don’t need to say any more if you don’t want to, but you know that wasn’t your fault, right? Tell me you know that it wasn’t your fault.” Dean sounds so earnest. 

Castiel doesn’t know why Dean cares so much, but he answers anyway. “I know.” And he does know, but it doesn’t do much to lessen the shame.

A sort of tranquil quiet falls over them after that. Castiel can breathe easier now, his heart feeling slightly less weighed down with the unloading of his confession. Dean seems lost in thought, like he’s taking a moment to absorb all the information, but he hasn’t kicked Castiel to the curb yet, so at least there’s that. 

“So, you still haven’t told me where you’re headed. Do you have a game plan?” Dean asks. 

“I figured I’d try to get to Los Angeles. There I can find a job and hopefully use what’s left of my money to put a downpayment on a studio apartment.” 

“That’s it? That’s the whole grand plan?” 

“Well, yes. I originally  _ planned _ on having a lot more money, but nothing has really gone as expected.”

“I’ll say,” Dean says, eyebrows raised. 

“So you see why I need to leave? I need to get to LA to get a job. I can only hold onto this money for so long. The sooner I get there, the better. And it’s not like you can just drive me there.” 

Dean is silent for only a moment before he speaks again. “Why don’t you just stay here for a few days?” 

Castiel’s next breath catches in his throat and he looks up for the first time in several minutes - straight into those emerald eyes. Dean can’t be serious. “Wh— what?” 

“Hear me out, okay? You have nowhere in particular to be, right? And this storm is sticking around at least through tonight and probably through tomorrow night as well. So stay here, get your feet under you and then we can see about getting you to LA.” Dean says it as though he’s already made up his mind, as though this is the easiest decision in the world. 

“I can’t do that,” Castiel stutters.

“Why not?”

All Castiel can manage are a few blinks in Dean’s direction as he struggles to wrap his head around the question. He has a thousand reasons why not and yet... none at all. 

Dean’s really asking him to stay? That would mean another night with a warm place to sleep, maybe even another shower, someone still to talk to. His heart physically aches with the want of it. 

“I… I can’t impose on you like that. And even if I did, I would need to pay you and I can’t afford—”

“I’m not asking you for money, Cas,” Dean interrupts. “Forget about that. You’d be doing me a favor.”

“Huh? How’s that?” 

“Because if you walk out that door I’ll be worried about you and this is supposed to be my weekend to relax. I can’t do that if you’re out there hitchhiking in the rain without so much as a fuckin’ umbrella.”

“Dean…” Castiel doesn’t want to give in, but oh, he really really does. 

“Are you a felon?” Dean asks abruptly. 

“What? No!” Castiel’s brain is trying to keep up here, but Dean clearly has his own agenda. 

“Are you running from or in trouble with the law? Will I be harboring a fugitive if you stay?”

“No, and  _ absolutely not _ . It’s nothing like that, I swear.” 

“Well okay then. Glad that’s settled. So... Indiana Jones, Star Wars, or Lord of the Rings? I’m feeling like a movie marathon.” Dean wiggles his eyebrows at him and sinks back into the couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. 

Lightning flashes against the dark sky outside followed by a boom of thunder off in the distance. 

And just like that, Castiel is staying another night. 

***

The rest of the day is relaxing and uneventful in the most perfect way. Dean is appalled when he learns that Castiel hasn’t seen any of the movies he previously listed off, so he adamantly insists that they start with Indiana Jones. They get twenty minutes in when Dean pauses and asks him if everything’s alright after noticing Castiel’s shifting on the couch a few times. Dean, determined to finally make him loosen up so he can  _ pay proper attention and respect to the legend that is Harrison Ford _ , makes Castiel a cup of tea and demands that he go change back into the sweatpants and t-shirt he’d borrowed the night before, the ones still sitting folded on the bathroom counter. Once that’s done, they make it through the first movie without another fuss. 

Halfway into the second movie, Castiel falls fast asleep, waking up two hours later to a particularly loud clap of thunder and Dean in the kitchen getting snacks - the burritos were big enough that a full lunch isn’t at all necessary, but he certainly isn’t going to turn down more food. Castiel’s heart and cheeks grow warm when he finds that Dean paused the movie to let him sleep. They pick up right where they left off.

Before the final movie they take a break and talk a little more. Nothing heavy or especially personal, but Castiel does learn a little more about the car Dean’s leaning on in the picture on the shelf, the same one now sitting in the driveway. It belonged to his father and it was how he learned the ins and outs of an engine. Dean lights up while talking about the car he affectionately calls “Baby” and Castiel is mesmerized. The joy reflected in his eyes is unadulterated and precious and Castiel is drawn to it, wants to know what else makes Dean so passionate. When Castiel asks about Dean’s father, the immediate subject change is enough to know that that subject is off limits. 

“Hey, the rain stopped! I need to go check on my truck at the back of the shop, make sure the coverings are holding before it picks up again. You mind giving me a few minutes before we start the last one?” Dean asks. 

“You have a truck, too?” 

“Sort of. She’s just a project right now but hoping to get her drivable real soon,” Dean explains as he’s standing and grabbing his jacket from behind the door. 

“May I join you? I wouldn’t mind stretching my legs.”

“Sure. Here, use this.” Dean tosses him another jacket that was hanging next to his own and the two head out to the front porch. “It’s muddy as fuck, so you’ll need these, too.” He hands Castiel a pair of rainboots as he slips on his own work boots. 

Dean’s simple yet selfless actions don’t escape Castiel’s notice and he’s yet again wondering what made this man so compassionate. He doesn’t have much time to dwell on his thoughts, though, because Dean is already taking off down the porch steps. He walks towards the far end of the yard, opposite where Dean’s car is parked, and heads for the opening in the tire wall that he’d pointed out yesterday, the one leading to the back of the auto repair shop. 

As they walk through the opening Castiel looks around and realizes that there’s quite a bit of land here, the storefront deceptively small in comparison. To his immediate right there’s a large shed painted navy blue. Next to the shed and along the brick sidewall is a typical junk yard area full of car parts, more tires, and scraps. On the other side of the opening there’s some more car parts in the corner and then an open-walled car shelter, underneath which is a pickup truck covered by a tarp. Beyond the car parts, the shelter, and the shed, Castiel notices the back of the shop and garage, all closed up against the weather. 

Dean strides straight to the truck.

“There’s so much space back here,” Castiel comments. “I didn’t realize.” 

Dean responds as he checks all his ties on the tarp. “Yeah, it’s a bit of a mix-match situation we’ve got going on. It used to be full of all junk a couple years ago but I helped Bobby clean it up and in turn, he let me build that shed over there and he’s letting me work on this truck, too.” 

“You know the owner?” Castiel feels useless and doesn’t know what to do to help, so he just looks around the yard, making casual conversation. 

“Sure do. He’s kinda like a dad to me, honestly. But that’s a story for another time.” 

Castiel’s heart dips in an unexpected flutter at the thought of speaking to Dean at an indeterminate time in the future. Surely that’s not exactly what Dean meant, so he pushes the thought out of his mind. It’s ridiculous anyway. 

“Thought this was your day off, boy.” 

Castiel jumps at the unfamiliar voice behind him. 

“Cool your jets, Bobby. I’m just checking on the truck, then I’m gone,” Dean responds, snarky but playful. 

The man grunts and then turns to Castiel, giving him a judgemental once-over. “Who’re you?” 

“That’s Ca—” Dean stops and glances at Castiel before correcting himself. “That’s Steve, he’s a friend of mine. Don’t worry, we’ll be outta your hair in two seconds. Steve, that’s Bobby Singer.”

Castiel mentally shakes his head, Dean’s effort to keep his secret and the use of the term  _ friend _ having caught him completely off guard. “Nice to meet you, Sir.” He sticks out his hand in greeting.

“MmmHm,” Bobby huffs, shaking his hand. “Finally a friend of Dean’s with some manners. You keep that one outta trouble, you got that?” he sticks a thumb towards Dean and raises an eyebrow at Castiel. 

Dean rolls his eyes but Bobby doesn’t see it, nor does he wait for an answer before he’s heading back through the same doorway from where he came. 

“Ignore him,” Dean says. “That’s what I do.” There’s a jovial smirk behind the words. “Now come on. We’ve got a date with  _ The Last Crusade. _ We don’t want to keep Mr. Ford waiting.” 

They head back through the hole in the tire wall and to the house. Castiel hadn’t realized how cold it had gotten in the past day and he finds the tips of his fingers are frozen from the short time outside. He’s once again extremely thankful for the comfort of Dean’s hospitality. 

Back inside the house and settled on the couch, Dean makes them a couple mugs of hot chocolate and then they finally manage to finish the third Indiana Jones movie. Dean makes them spaghetti and meatballs for dinner and when Castiel offers his assistance (after a fair warning that he’s useless in the kitchen as far as actual cooking is concerned), Dean simply asks for his company, so he sits at one of the barstools while Dean gets to work. By the time dinner is cooked and devoured, Dean has pulled out a pen and a piece of paper, writing down all of the movies that Castiel  _ needs to see _ but hasn’t. The list is intimidatingly long. 

Castiel insists that he be the one to clean up while Dean jumps in the shower, then they switch. He’s enjoying his second steaming hot shower in two days when it hits him just how  _ normal _ this feels - the way he and Dean just spent an entire day together and managed it with very little awkwardness. This is probably a first for Castiel and if it weren’t for the fact that he’s extremely aware of his inability to somehow repay Dean, it would have been a damn near perfect stormy day. 

Actually, this is bad. Really bad. He can’t get comfortable again the way he did today. He needs to get to Los Angeles, needs to sort his life out. Every second he stays here will only make it more difficult to leave.

By the time he shuts off the water, he’s made the decision to leave in the morning - no matter what. 

Maybe Dean can take him to the nearest bus station and he’ll splurge on a bus ticket, that way it won’t matter if it’s still raining or not because Los Angeles is probably sunny anyway. Yeah, that’s what he’ll do. He’s also going to ignore the twist in his chest at the thought of having no one to talk to again… of missing Dean’s company. 

The rest of the evening is uneventful. With another storm surge making its way through the area and not much else to do, they end up popping in another movie. They make it halfway through a movie called  _ The Goonies,  _ one Dean swears is a classic, but Castiel falls asleep halfway through. Again. 

He wakes up the next morning to the heavenly smell of coffee. By the time he blinks the bleariness from his eyes, Dean is standing in front of him with two cups of coffee, one in each hand. 

“Mornin’, sunshine. Drink up and get dressed. The sun’s out and we’re getting out of the house.”


	3. Chapter 3

When Dean woke up this morning, the sun was shining through his bedroom window for the first time in days. It brought a smile to his face and he stayed in bed for an extra thirty minutes enjoying the natural light, stretching out across the mattress until he felt the pleasant pull of his muscles from fingertips to toes. He even slept through the night, and it’s been a long time since he’s gone more than four hours without interruption... without a nightmare. 

Pleasantries combined, he’s in a great mood; the type of mood where contentment becomes intoxicating and everything seems possible, which might be why he’s about to do what he’s about to do.

He’s standing in front of Ste— no,  _ Castiel _ —and he’s got two mugs of coffee in his hands. 

“Mornin’, sunshine. Drink up and get dressed. The sun’s out and we’re getting out of the house.” 

He holds out one of the mugs for Cas, who peeks his head out from under the mound of blankets piled on top of him, dark tufts of his hair sticking up all over the place. Cas slowly blinks himself awake and the blue of his eyes is unreal in the light of the morning, not that Dean notices or anything.

“Huh?” Cas mutters, clearly confused but still too groggy to do much about it other than sit up and accept the offering of caffeine. 

Two days. It’s barely been two days since he brought Cas back to his place and it’s weird that none of this feels weird. Waking up to him on the couch, grabbing two coffees instead of one, sharing meals - it feels more normal than it should. And he can’t even begin to try and explain why he wants to help the guy out so much. It’s just that Cas seems lost, like a battered little sailboat struggling to find the shore... he just needs a lighthouse, is all.

Dean would also be lying if he didn’t admit that he’s enjoyed the company. He’d forgotten the comfort that simple conversation can provide and for the past two days, Cas’s presence has been a reassuring warmth in his home. And now that he’s finally gotten Cas to relax and not be so uptight, it almost even feels like they’re friends.

“There’s a place a few blocks away. If we hurry, there’s biscuits and gravy in it for us.” 

“Hold on. I—” Cas begins, and Dean knows he’s about to say something to try to decline. 

“Nope. Shhhhh. No talking, just moving,” he interrupts. “I’ll fold the blankets. You go change.” 

“But Dean—”

“ _ But Cas _ ,” he parrots as he begins to remove the blankets from Cas’s lap. “Damn, you’re grumpy in the morning. Come on, everything will get better after food.”

“I’m not grumpy,” Cas pouts, and it might be the cutest thing he’s ever seen (ya know, if he actually used words like  _ cute  _ or  _ adorable  _ or  _ precious _ ).

“Dude, I’ve known you for all of two days and you’re two for two on the A.M. grump factor. Yesterday you thought I was trying to kidnap you, remember?” he says, giving Cas a pointed look.

Cas glares at him with his eyebrows pinched together and Dean can’t tell if he’s angry or just thinking really hard, maybe both, but Dean glowers right back, refusing to lose this smolder standoff.

After a few more seconds of pouting, Cas finally gets up and heads to the bathroom with a change of clothes from his backpack and the cup of coffee. A few minutes after that, they’re out the front door, dressed and at least somewhat caffeinated. 

Dean leads the way out of the house and to the sidewalk. They walk in silence, which is kind of Cas’s default preference, his mind seemingly always churning, working. Dean’s alright with that, though - he likes having Cas around, quiet or otherwise. Besides, if he breaks the silence he worries that Cas will try to bring up the subject of leaving again, and he can’t let him do that before he at least has the opportunity to present his bright, albeit impulsive, idea. 

“Here we are,” Dean says a few minutes later, holding out his arms in presentation. 

“The Roadhouse?” Cas asks, tilting his head to the side in confusion as he reads the sign over the front door. “I don’t understand. This is a bar. And it’s closed.” 

“Closed to the public, yes. But it helps when you know the owner.” He doesn’t wait for a response and leads them around the side of the building to a back entrance, tapping on the door before he opens it. “Ellen? It’s me!”

Cas follows him inside, keeping close behind. “Dean, are we supposed to be here?” he whispers from directly over Dean’s shoulder, sending a chill up his spine that he ignores immediately. 

“Back here, honey!” Ellen calls. “In the kitchen!” 

Dean follows her voice and is greeted with a warm hug when he enters the kitchen. It smells heavenly and his stomach grumbles in response. “Mornin’, Ellen. This is my friend, Steve. Steve, this is Ellen Harvelle. She owns The Roadhouse and I’ve known her my whole life.” 

“Good morning, ma’am.” Although a tad bewildered, Cas is polite as ever and shakes Ellen’s hand. Something warm blooms deep within Dean’s chest at the sight of it. 

Ellen tells them that she’s almost done and to head out to the bar and take a seat, so he shows Cas the way. He has Cas sit down at one of the few booths that take up space along the wall then goes behind the bar to pour them two glasses of orange juice. 

“Ellen cooks up a mean Sunday breakfast,” he explains as Cas gives him a worried look from across the room. “Don’t worry, I told her we were coming, so she knew to expect the both of us and there’s plenty of food,” he reassures, delivering the orange juice to the table and sitting down across from Cas.

Right on cue, Ellen comes around the corner from the kitchen with two plates piled high with food. “Here you are, boys. Hope you’re hungry.” She sets the plates down on the table and Dean has to hold back his grin when Cas’s eyes grow comically wide. “Now don’t be shy, honey. Eat up. There’s more where that came from.” She gives Cas a gentle pat on the back and just as she’s about to turn away, the sound of keys at the front door catch their attention. As the door opens, in bursts Benny and Ash. Ellen stands up straight with her hands firmly planted on her hips. “Well, it’s about damn time you two. A minute later and I was about to serve your breakfast to the dogs.” 

“Awww come on, Boss. You don’t even have dogs,” Ash complains. 

“No, but I know folks who do. Point is, smartass,  _ you’re late. _ Now go get your breakfast before I change my mind.” 

Benny and Ash give Dean a quick wave and hustle to the kitchen, not daring to stop for additional banter. Dean thanks Ellen and she excuses herself to follow the other two to the back. When Dean turns to Cas again, his eyes are still wide as he tries to figure out what the hell is happening.

“Dean, what is this place and why did you bring me here? What’s going on?” There’s a hint of panic underlying his whispered tone. 

Dean whispers back. “It’s fine, Cas. Trust me.”

Like a wash of cold water, it suddenly hits him -  _ Cas already does _ . Cas has trusted him from the beginning. Sure, he may be a little skittish or nervous at times but ultimately, they’ve both put quite a lot of blind trust in one another. Dean hasn’t been so giving of himself since… well, it doesn’t matter. For some unexplained reason, it just feels right. 

“But who are all these people? And why did that woman cook us breakfast?” 

Dean chuckles, grabbing a piece of bacon and taking a bite. “You know how I told you that Bobby is basically like my dad? Well, Ellen is kinda like my mom. Sorta. As for the other two that just walked in, they’re employees. They have a weekly staff meeting every Sunday morning and Ellen makes them breakfast when she’s feeling generous, or when she’s buttering them up for something. The tall guy is Benny, he’s the bar manager. The stoner looking one is Ash, he’s the head bartender.”

“Oh. That’s very kind of her.” Cas looks down at his food. 

Ellen cooked biscuits and gravy, Dean’s favorite, along with scrambled eggs and bacon. If they eat all this, they won’t be hungry again until dinner. 

“Yeah, that’s Ellen all right. Now dig in. It doesn’t taste the same when it’s cold. Still delicious, but not the same.” He picks up his fork and sees that Cas follows his lead. They eat together in silence and Dean notes that while Cas’s appetite is still quite healthy, he doesn’t eat with as much reserved desperation as he did a few days ago. It makes him feel elated, like he’s been able to do at least one thing right. 

A few minutes later, Ellen comes back to the table, nudging Dean to scoot over so she can squeeze onto the bench next to him, stealing a piece of his bacon while she’s at it. He’s about to object but she gives him her signature  _ mom glare _ and he snaps his mouth shut. 

“So. How is it?” She addresses the table but Dean knows the question is meant for Cas. 

“It’s delicious,” Cas responds around a mouthful of biscuit, covering his mouth with a napkin as soon as he realizes his impolite transgression. He swallows his food before he adds; “This just might be the best homemade breakfast I’ve ever had.”

Ellen smiles and Dean knows damn well that she’s pleased to hear such a compliment. 

“Well, I’m glad. When Dean said he had a friend to bring over this morning, I knew he’d want his favorite. Been making him biscuits and gravy since he was just a tiny little thing. Not much has changed, although his chipmunk cheeks full of food was much more endearing back then than it is now.” 

“Hey!” he grumbles, as he shovels another forkful of eggs into his mouth in protest. 

“So Steve, tell me a little bit about yourself.” 

Cas nearly drops his fork and his face goes blank but he recovers impressively quickly. “What would you like to know?”

“Well, for starters, I know you’re not from around here, so where're you from?”

Dean stops eating and sits back to watch this exchange. He should’ve warned Cas about Ellen but it’s too late now. Hell, he should’ve warned Cas about his whole damn plan already.

“The Northwest. Washington, to be more specific.”

“And what brings you down this way?” 

“Needed a change, mostly.”

“MmHm. And how do you know Dean?” Ellen sounds like she’s been waiting to ask this very question, like it’s the only one that matters. 

Cas glances at Dean and he senses the pleading look before it even has the chance to manifest across Cas’s face, so he intervenes. “Steve and I met in Bagyo Bay, at that little crab hut by the docks. Got him hooked on the clam chowder.” 

Cas’s eyes soften the moment he realizes that Dean isn’t about to betray him or give away his secrets. “Yes, and Dean has been kind enough to show me around.”

Ellen glances between the two of them and Dean shifts. It’s uncomfortable being under Ellen’s scrutiny but whatever judgement she’s forming, she keeps it to herself for now. “What did you do for work before you made your way down the coast?” 

Dean perks up at the question. It’s one he doesn’t know the answer to but has wondered about himself. Cas hasn’t exactly opened up yet, but Dean’s finding more and more that he wants him to. 

“I um… I worked for my mother’s business. In finance.” 

“That so?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

She’s sizing Cas up and Dean has no idea which direction her conclusion is headed, which is odd considering she can usually read a person at the drop of a dime (and be right on the money, too). As long as Dean has known her, she’s only ever made one error in that regard and that was with Benny, but her track record before and ever since then has been solid. 

Ellen’s also never been one to mince words when it comes to her opinion of Dean’s friends and he’s learned to trust her instincts by now, but for some reason his heart is beating against his chest. Why’s it doing that? He hasn’t even had a second cup of coffee yet, so why is he knee bouncing under the table as if— 

Ohmygod. He’s  _ nervous _ . He’s practically holding his breath waiting for Ellen to reveal her verdict. This is so stupid. He needs to pull it together, like, now. 

“So why did y—” Ellen’s next question is cut short by a crash in the kitchen. “Pardon me, boys, it appears I have to go knock some heads together. You’d think I was running a daycare in this place.” Annoyed, she gets up and takes off but Dean can tell that she’s reluctant to leave the conversation unfinished. 

“Sorry about that,” Dean says. “Ellen can be a little intense but she’s not scary. Unless she doesn’t like you, and then she’s downright terrifying.” He’s only half joking. Okay, maybe thirty percent kidding. Ten percent, but who’s counting? 

Cas is visibly more relaxed now that Ellen isn’t grilling him. “She clearly cares for you very much,” he notes, fondness softening his tone and a sad smile curving at the side of his mouth. 

Dean huffs an inward laugh at that because it’s true, Ellen cares for him far more than he can wrap his own mind around, but it’s certainly not something he expected Cas to pick up on quite so quickly. Most people find Ellen overbearing and bothersome until they know better (well, only the ones who pass her approval test actually get to know better. The others tend to see things differently). 

“Dean?” Cas continues, interrupting his wandering thoughts with the tentative question. “Why did you bring me here?”

“For the best breakfast ever, obviously.” He knows that’s not what Cas meant but he can’t help but tease him. Besides, if he exposes the truth and Cas rejects the idea or gets upset, Dean doesn’t trust himself not to get disappointed, so delaying everything seems like a better alternative. 

“Dean.” Cas pins him with a look that conveys he’s not up for games. It’s very convincing... and kinda hot. 

He takes a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “Yeah, okay. So about that. Listen Cas, I was thinking—” 

Bobby chooses that moment to make a surprise appearance. Where did he even come from? He’s carrying a small, insulated lunch bag and walking with purpose across the bar, from the kitchen to the front door, stopping when he notices Dean. 

“Jesus, I give you a whole weekend off and I still can’t go a single day without seeing your ugly mug everywhere?” 

“Well, good morning to you, too, Mr. Grumptastic. Ya know, you should really get to a doctor. Either your vision is fading or you’re going senile because this mug—” he points to his own face with a cocky grin, “—is adorable.”

Bobby rolls his eyes so hard that it’s a miracle he doesn’t fall over backwards with the motion of it. “It’s too damn early for this shit.” He ignores Dean entirely to look at Cas instead. “Goodbye Dean’s friend and good luck. There’s no excuse for him.”

After watching Bobby leave through the front door with the food Ellen undoubtedly put together for him, he turns back to see Cas smiling. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing! It’s just that I’ve never seen anyone interact with people the way you do. It’s very enjoyable to watch.” Cas looks down at his plate, his food suddenly very interesting as he pushes some gravy around with his fork, avoiding eye contact now. 

Dean feels a rush of warmth sweep across his cheeks and travel up to the tips of his ears. He knows the blush is visible on his face and even though Cas is looking down, Dean wills it to go away. 

“You two about finished?” Ellen says, having somehow snuck back to the table without his noticing. Seriously, what’s with everyone catching him off guard this morning?

Dean’s head snaps up. “Huh? We were just— we’re not—”

“I meant with your plates.” She gives him a pointed look that he can’t quite read. 

“I’ll take them, Ms. Harvelle.” Cas moves to stand and grab the plates but Ellen pushes him back down with a hand to his shoulder. 

“Not this morning, you won’t, young man. Right now, you’re my guest and I’m happy to have you. But that’ll change tonight. The job’s yours if you want it. Be here at five sharp.” She picks up the plates and utensils and stacks them in her arm as Cas watches, not saying a word. She’s already retreating when she adds over her shoulder, “And darlin’, don’t ever call me Ms. Harvelle again. Ellen will do just fine, thank you.” 

With that, they’re yet again left alone at the booth. 

“Cas—”

“Dean—” they both begin at the same time, staring each other down across the table.

Dean knows he owes Cas an answer and quick. “So that idea I was trying to tell you about… hear me out, okay? I was just thinking that since you don’t have a specific plan for when you get to LA and you lost a bunch of your money, you could stick around here for a while and pad your wallet a little before you move on. I asked Ellen if she needed any help around here and she obviously needed to meet you first, so I figured this was a good way to do it.” 

Cas’s shoulders rise and fall as he takes several deep breaths before he responds. “So this was a job interview?!” he whispers angrily, obviously not wanting their discussion to be overheard. “You brought me here for breakfast in the hope that Ellen would want to hire me to work for her? Are you serious?” 

Okay, so Cas is mad. Dean wasn’t exactly expecting that reaction but in hindsight, maybe he should have been. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to blindside you and I didn’t think Ellen would say anything before I had the chance to explain what was happening, but it all worked out, right?”

Cas stares daggers across the table. “I have to go.” He gets up and charges for the front door. 

It takes Dean’s brain a few seconds to catch up with what’s happening and when it does, he finally gets up and scrambles after him. “Hold on. Wait.” Cas is already outside by the time Dean reaches the door and pushes his way through it. “Cas! Hold up, would you?!” 

“I have to go, Dean. Please give Ellen my regards. Breakfast was lovely.” He storms off down the street without looking back and Dean doesn’t know what the fuck just happened. Was he being insensitive? Rude? What memo did he miss? Fuck, Cas did tell Ellen that he was in finance before now and he’d also been traveling with quite a bit of cash.  _ Shit _ . He was probably planning on some fancy job and now Dean’s gone and totally insulted his intelligence by suggesting he work in a bar. Great. He stuck his nose where it doesn’t belong and now he’s gone and made a mess of things. Typical. 

He gives Cas a head start walking towards the house, assuming that’s where he’s going, and if it’s not, then Dean will just meet him there later. Cas can’t totally bail without picking up his things, so at the very least Dean takes comfort knowing he’ll have one chance at a proper apology before they split ways.

He walks back inside the bar to thank Ellen and tell her that he’ll text her in a little while after vaguely confessing that he hadn’t had the chance to tell Steve about the job and that he might not be able to accept it. She slaps Dean upside the head in a way only a doting mother can and chastises him for not communicating better with both her and Steve - it’s a scolding he’s received time and again. 

She ultimately gives him a kiss on the cheek and sends him on his way but Dean doesn’t miss the questioning look Benny shoots him before he makes his exit. 

The sun climbs higher above the horizon as he takes his time walking home. The air is crisp and fresh, the way it gets only after the rain scrubs the sky clean. Dean breathes it in. The shops are beginning to open their doors and the street is already busy with drivers and pedestrians. With most everyone having been on lockdown the past two days because of the storm, the town is sure to be bustling with people taking advantage of the sunshine. 

This is the kind of morning that would normally have Dean buzzing with joy, whether he had to be at work or not. Enjoying the sun and taking his Baby out for a spin with the windows down? There’s nothing better. He was kind of secretly hoping that he would do the same with Cas in the passenger seat this afternoon, but the thought only leaves him feeling even more embarrassed and defeated. 

This morning was so full of promise. 

It was all a stupid idea anyway. All of it. Of course Cas has to move on. No one wants to stay here in this podunk town, especially not someone with aspirations of a life in Los Angeles. He should’ve fucking known better. 

Dean passes the front of Singer Auto and rounds the corner to his own home, not wanting to cut through the shop like he’s known to do. He enters through the side gate that’s built into the wall to the left of the larger sliding gate. Shutting the door firmly in place behind him, Dean takes a step towards the house and sees Cas sitting on the porch steps. He’s hugging his legs that are pulled into his chest and his chin is resting on top of his knees. His head pops up when he hears the gate shut. 

Cas has looked downtrodden and hopeless more than once in the last few days but he’s never looked quite as small as he does right now, and Dean can’t seem to figure out why little pieces of his heart keep breaking for someone who, for all intents and purposes, is a total stranger. 

He walks up to the porch and takes a seat next to Cas, who simply rests his head back down on top of his kneecaps. Dean knows he needs to speak first but it takes him a moment to find the courage. 

“I’m sorry,” he says finally. There’s a deep, slow responding inhale next to him.

“You’re not the one who should be apologizing. I was quite rude, and after everything you’ve done for me, you didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry, Dean.” 

“Well I shouldn’t have sprung that on you. It was just an idea I had and it was really none of my business.” 

Cas lifts his head to look at him, his eyes searching for an answer but Dean doesn’t know the question. There’s a sadness to it all, it’s thick in the air around them and Dean swallows, holding back an urge to… to  _ do something,  _ though he doesn’t know what. He doesn’t know anything. So they just stare. 

For just a second, in a moment of weakness and with a fleeting betrayal of his heart, he thinks about how beautiful Cas really is. Sure, the dark, unruly hair, the blue eyes, and broad shoulders are all physical aspects that anyone would appreciate, but it’s so much more than that. Cas has a story to tell and Dean desperately wants to turn the pages, to learn the secrets hidden within the spaces between the spine. 

“Why?” Cas unknowingly interrupts, the question spoken so softly that Dean would’ve missed it if they weren’t sitting so close together. 

“Why what?” 

“Why are you doing this?” Cas’s eyes turn glossy but it’s probably just the breeze that’s picked up and put a bite in the air. 

“I told you. I thought that it might be easier if you had the opportunity to make some money here before heading to LA, but it was a stupid idea.” 

“No, not that. Why— Dean, why are you helping me?” 

There’s a pleading look on Cas’s face and it just about does Dean in. He wants to close the narrow distance between them and put his arms around Cas, to hold his broken pieces in place and give him time to heal from whatever it is that’s been chipping away at him. 

“Honestly? I’m not entirely sure. I mean, there’s no specific reason or anything. I just know that in my darkest hours I had people who yanked me to my feet and saved me when I didn’t have the means to save myself. I’m not implying that you need saving and I’m sure as hell not trying to act like this is some holy mission, but you seem like you could use some help, even if it’s only a little compassion. That’s all.”

Cas huffs. “You seem to have your life together. I can’t imagine it being any other way for you.” 

Now it’s his turn to laugh, though the sound of it comes out all wrong and it’s more of a sad, unintentional sigh. “You’d be surprised, but let’s just leave it at that.” 

Cas looks back at him with a curious tilt of his head but he doesn’t press it. They fall back into silence, neither of them making a move to go into the house. 

“Can I ask you something?” Dean says. 

“Sure.” 

“Was my idea really so terrible? Did I offend you in some way?”

“No, it wasn’t, and no, you didn’t.” Cas’s words are soft and sincere. 

“If that’s true, then why’d you take off?” 

“You… you surprised me. I was caught off guard and wasn’t prepared for an interview.”

“You realize that it wasn’t anything official, right? And Ellen likes you. You got the job and it’s still yours if you want it.” 

“I just… I don’t know.” Cas pulls his knees in even closer, obviously uncomfortable and trapped in his own thoughts.

“Well, I’m going to go work on my truck. Here, take the house keys.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his set of keys, handing them over to Cas. “Promise me you’ll think about it, okay? And if you want to be in Los Angeles by tonight, just do me a favor and don’t leave without saying goodbye. Come get me, I’ll drive you to the train station or bus station or wherever you need me to.” 

Dean gets up and wipes the dust off his jeans, a lump forming in his throat against his own volition. His body has done nothing but betray him in the past, what? Four hours? He needs to walk away, needs to bury his head under an engine where things are so much less complicated. 

He feels Cas track his movements but nothing else is said until Dean’s halfway to the hole in the wall that leads to the junkyard. “Where would I stay?” Cas calls out after him, sounding like he might be afraid of the answer. 

Dean turns around to face him but doesn’t stop walking, taking two backwards steps as he answers with a matter-of-fact shrug that exudes more confidence than he feels. “Here, of course.” 

There’s no question about it and no argument to be had, so he doesn’t wait for a response before turning around and walking through the hole in the tire wall. 

Things stay quiet for a full three hours after Dean removes the tarp from his truck and gets to work. He’s been too caught up in his own thoughts the last few days and he needs a distraction. Besides, if Cas decides to leave (if he hasn’t already), then being distracted will be a good thing. Bobby doesn’t even pay him any mind and he’s thankful for it.

The sun is high in the sky now that it’s mid-afternoon and while it’s not hot outside by any means, it’s the warmest day they’ve had in awhile and Dean’s working up a sweat. He lost track of time over an hour ago and he’s thirsty, but if he’s being honest, he’s also avoiding going back into his house, nervous about what he might find. Cas could have his backpack packed up, or worse, he could already be gone. It shouldn’t matter either way, it’s not like they’re friends or whatever, and yet he finds himself pouring extra energy into the belly of the Ford in an effort to try not to think about it. 

Stellar job so far, clearly. 

Dean’s on his back working on the transmission when he hears footsteps approach. Looking to the side he spots a pair of old, dirty sneakers standing next to the truck. He slides himself out from under the vehicle and sees Cas looking down at him, his head blocking out the sun to create a bright halo of light around his messy head of hair.

“I brought you water,” he says nervously, holding out the glass while Dean sits up to eagerly accept it. He takes a drink in large gulps, savoring the way it quenches his thirst and wets his lips that have suddenly become dry in Cas’s presence. 

“Thanks, Cas. I needed that.” 

“I don’t know what to wear,” Cas announces abruptly, like he couldn’t hold the words back any longer.

“Wear for what?”

“The Roadhouse.” 

Dean can’t help the smile that spreads across his face, though he tries, he really tries. He sees Cas quirk a small smile in return and a spark of joy bursts from his chest and radiates down his arms to his fingertips. “Her bartenders wear jeans and a black t-shirt. Nothing fancy.”

“I have jeans,” Cas responds with reserved hopefulness.

“And I have a black t-shirt you can borrow, so you’re covered.” 

Cas nods. “Okay then.” 

“Okay,” Dean repeats. 

He tries not to sound quite as happy and relieved as he feels.  _ This is only temporary  _ he reminds himself, but he’ll worry about that later. For now, Cas is staying at least another night, maybe more, and that’s another night where his house won’t feel so empty. He’ll take it. 

He slides back under the truck where he doesn’t have to hide his smile. He texts Ellen and Cas sticks around for the ten minutes it takes him to finish up, then they walk back to the house together. 

***

The rest of the afternoon passes quickly and maybe it’s all in his head, but Dean swears that there’s a lightness to their conversations that wasn’t there before and Cas doesn’t seem quite so weighed down by the world… until it’s about time for him to leave for his first shift, then he gets nervous as hell. It’s kind of cute. 

Dean spends a good forty-five minutes trying to assure him that he’ll be fine. He gives Cas all the tips, tricks, and advice he can think of, especially ones about getting on Ellen’s good side. He’s pretty sure Benny is also on shift tonight, so that’s a good thing. Benny runs a tight ship but he’s patient and attentive. He also prefers to do all the new hire training himself so it gets done right. Cas will be totally fine. 

Before he leaves, Cas wants to take a quick shower and Dean grabs the least faded black t-shirt from his closet, handing it over to Cas before he disappears into the bathroom. Dean wouldn’t classify himself as particularly modest and he has no qualms with walking around his house without a shirt or with a towel wrapped around his waist in front of company, but Cas only ever changes in the bathroom and always makes sure he’s fully dressed before he exits, so Dean has conscientiously returned the favor. He figures it’s one less thing to cause the poor guy stress or worry.

This time, however, when Cas steps out of the bathroom, he may be fully dressed but Dean has to hold his breath and swallow. 

Cas’s jeans fit so perfectly that he wonders if they’re actually tailored; they’re snug, but not too snug, and they show off his muscular thighs and slender waist (and his perfect, round ass). After appreciating the lower half, his eyes can’t help but to roam slowly upwards. With Cas a little thicker than Dean in all the right ways, the shirt he borrowed fits more tightly than it does on Dean, pulling taught across his chest and accentuating his broad shoulders and toned biceps. As if that wasn’t enough, his ocean blue eyes stand out brightly against the black of the shirt and his hair is unruly in a way that looks intentional but isn't. He looks good. Really good. 

_ Fuck.  _

“How do I look?” Cas asks, as if he’s just standing there without any idea how hot he is. 

Oh god... he doesn’t, does he? He’s probably asking that question completely unironically and Dean can only manage a nod and a half smile for confirmation. 

Yup. Cas will do just fine.

He has to practically push Cas out the door after that because the danger of saying or doing something stupid is red-level high and it’s a damn good thing that he’s expected at Bobby and Jody’s in less than an hour for Sunday dinner. He needs a cold shower and then out of the house, so he does just that. 

When he arrives at the house, Jody answers the door and greets him with a big hug. Bobby eventually makes his way into the living room and Ellen shows up about twenty minutes after that. 

Sunday dinners have been a longstanding tradition for the Winchester/Singer/Harvelle family. It started back before Sam and Dean hit puberty, before Jody married Bobby, and long before Dean nearly fucked his entire life up. The dinners began as a way to keep everyone’s schedules on track, a weekly family meeting of sorts, but it evolved over the years. At one point they tried to make it a game night as well. Dean liked the game nights, until he got older and became too cool, which meant the games got too lame. Occasionally they’ll have to skip a Sunday or someone can’t make it, but all these years later and the tradition still holds. They’ve even brought back game night a few times.

Dinner is almost always held at Bobby and Jody’s house now but they take turns cooking the meal. This week happens to be Bobby’s week, so steaks and mashed potatoes it is, though Jody makes him add asparagus to the menu, too. 

While Bobby finishes up with the grill on the back patio and Jody’s working on the potatoes, Dean and Ellen enjoy beers together on the couch. 

“So your friend,” Ellen says, “he’s a very nice young man. Tell me again how you two met?” 

Dean knows there’s no use in beating around the bush with Ellen, so he tells her the gist of it; that Cas (Steve) wandered into the shop to wait out the rain and that Dean saw him again the next day at Bagyo Bay. He confesses that Cas seemed hungry so he bought him lunch, though he leaves out the part about taking Cas back home that night.

“So he’s homeless?” Nothing gets past Ellen, no matter how much Dean might try to sugarcoat the story. 

“Well, sorta. I guess. More like he’s between homes. He’s been hitchhiking down the coast and he’s trying to get to LA. He was traveling with money but he basically got robbed and so that’s how I came to figure he could just hang out here for a little while. Ya know, make some money before he heads for the big city.” 

“And by ‘hang out here’, you mean where, exactly?” 

Dean knows she knows the answer but she’s going to make him say it. “He’s staying on my couch.” He tenses up and waits for her reaction. 

“Who’s living on your couch?” Jody pipes up, appearing in the living room. 

“What about his couch?” Bobby yells from the kitchen, apparently done with the grill. 

Dean downs the rest of his beer. This is going to be a long dinner. 

Ellen helps Dean catch everyone up on the story of the stranger sleeping on his couch. He’d thought about making up a lie to avoid the inevitable questions ( _ Why is here? Can’t you just buy him a bus ticket? Are you sure you can trust him? How long is he planning on staying? _ ), but he’s learned that doing so won’t get him anywhere and they’ll find out the truth eventually. Besides, he’s not hiding anything. 

Except the one thing he is. 

He has to remember to use the name “Steve” in front of his family. He hates that there’s even the one lie to tell but he’s doing it for Cas’s sake. Cas hasn’t explicitly said the words but Dean can read between the lines easily enough - he’s running from someone, maybe several someones, and he’s scared of being found out. Cas is trying to keep a low profile, so Dean’s going to help him do that. There’s a pang of guilt each time he uses the name “Steve”, but “Castiel” is such a unique name that it would be very easy to trace, so Dean’s not going to be the one to out him (and judging by the shiner Cas had when he showed up, nothing good would come from it). So he keeps up with the lie. 

After he’s peppered with the appropriate questions from the responsible adults in his life and after Jody promises to stop by in her Sheriff’s uniform as a non confrontational display of force, they sit down for dinner.

Just after he cuts into his steak, Dean’s phone buzzes in his pocket. 

**BENNY** :  _ Where’d u find this guy?  _

**BENNY** :  _ He’s a weird one. Smart tho.  _

**BENNY** :  _ But weird.  _

**DEAN** :  _ He’s a friend. Be easy on him, k? For me.  _

**BENNY** :  _ Can do.  _

As an afterthought, Dean sends one more text. 

**DEAN** :  _ Hey, let me know when you’re closing up tonight, will ya?  _

Benny responds with a thumbs-up emoji and Dean looks up to find Ellen glaring at him from across the table. 

“You about done?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Dean puts his phone down and tries to suppress the smile that landed on his face at some point during the texting. He also pretends not to see the raised eyebrow exchange shared between Ellen and Jody. Bobby is none the wiser, thank goodness, too involved in devouring his steak and praising his own skills at the grill. 

The four of them enjoy the rest of their meals over polite conversation and without further interruption. When dinner is over, Bobby distributes another round of beers for everyone except Jody, she’s working a night shift tonight and has to head out within the hour. This dinner was more like her breakfast. They all help with the clean up and before she leaves, Jody brings out a homemade peach cobbler. To no one’s surprise, Dean just about goes weak at the knees in anticipation. It doesn’t matter how many times Ellen or Jody bake something, it never gets old and never goes unappreciated. Not ever. 

The evening is winding down when his phone buzzes again. 

**BENNY** : _ Finishing up here in about 10 _

**BENNY** :  _ Make it 20. Teaching the kid how to close up. _

Benny’s got no right calling Cas “the kid” considering that they’re probably close to the same age, but he calls all his trainees that. If you’re a real fuck up the nickname never goes away, but the ones who manage to impress Benny don’t hold the name for long. 

Before he leaves Dean grabs two more slices of cobbler and puts them on paper plates, covering them in foil. He says his goodbyes and hops into his Baby. 

Fifteen minutes later and he’s pulling up to The Roadhouse, parking the car at the curb out front.

Maybe driving here instead of straight home is yet another one of his brilliantly stupid ideas but he didn’t allow himself time to overthink it, he just did it. It doesn’t totally feel ridiculous until he’s parked out front and actually  _ waiting _ for Cas. Dean won’t easily admit to being overly excited to hear about Cas’s first day on the job but it’s really the only explanation he has for actually picking him up. 

However ridiculous he might feel for the few minutes he waits outside is a thousand percent worth it when Cas opens the front door and spots him. 

Their eyes catch and the smile that spreads across Cas’s face when he recognizes Dean should be illegal. It lights him up from the inside out and for the first time the smile reaches his eyes, making them practically glow in the low light of the street lamps. 

It’s the first truly genuine smile Dean’s seen from Cas and he knows without a doubt that he will make it his personal mission to ensure it’s only the first of many.


	4. Chapter 4

“So’s the closing checklist complete?” Benny asks as he finishes washing his hands in the large basin sink behind the bar. 

“The cleaning checklist is done, the till is closed, we’ve counted the safe and closed the office, done a walk-through of the kitchen, I’ve double checked the back door to make sure it’s locked… yes, I think we’ve got it all,” Castiel replies. 

Castiel -  _ Steve _ whenever anyone but Dean is around - is reading from the last page of the training manual that Benny provided him at the beginning of his shift and one he’s incredibly thankful for. He thrives on the structure of guidelines and checklists; it helps him to focus and feel confident that he’s not missing anything important, especially when it comes to learning something new. 

“Alrighty. Then you, my friend, have officially completed your first day. How d’ya feel?” Benny sounds genuinely curious, giving Castiel the courage to answer honestly.

“It’s certainly a lot to take in, but I enjoyed it. There’s quite a bit of responsibility required for this job and I don’t think I gave bartenders nearly enough credit before tonight, but I won’t make that mistake again.” 

“You and everyone else, kid. Now, whaddya say we lock the front doors and officially call it a night?”

Castiel nods his agreement and follows Benny back to the area near the kitchen where the employee lockers are located. They grab their belongings, Castiel only having a jacket, and head to the front. He waits for Benny to unlock the front door from the inside before clicking off the lights and following him out front. Benny explained just a few minutes prior that the front door has three different locks that can be tricky to lock from the outside and even though Castiel won’t be locking up by himself anytime soon, he pays close attention anyway. 

When he turns around to face the street, his breath catches. 

_ Dean is here. _

He’s got his car parked at the curb and he’s standing outside of it, leaning on the hood with his legs kicked out in front of him, one ankle propped over the other and his arms casually crossed, pulling the henley he’s wearing tight around his shoulders and biceps. It makes him look especially toned, but that’s not what makes Castiel’s mouth run dry. No, what has that particular effect is the grin on Dean’s face. It’s simultaneously shy and confident, if that’s even possible, but it doesn't matter because regardless, Dean makes it possible. 

It’s no big revelation that Dean is an incredibly attractive man, Castiel knows this (he has eyes, afterall), but there’s something about him right now, standing there against his car under the streetlights.  _ He’s stunning. _

Maybe Castiel shouldn’t be thinking these thoughts. Maybe he should shut them down immediately and refuse to acknowledge that Dean’s the most gorgeous man he’s ever laid eyes on. He’s known it to be the truth since the very moment he saw Dean behind the counter of Singer Auto, but it was easier to ignore the first few days when he was hungry and scared and alone. Now? He’s a lot less of all those things. 

Yeah, he should just stop, this path he’s about to venture down leads to nowhere but trouble, and yet… he lets himself enjoy the sight before him. For just a moment, he lets it take his breath away. 

Without his express permission, Castiel feels a smile emerge. His mouth curves upwards, lifting his cheeks and causing his eyes to crinkle at the edges as a tingling warmth travels up his neck, moves across his face, and reaches the tips of his ears. It consumes him. 

_ God, what is he? Twelve? _

“Well fancy meeting you here, brother,” Benny says to Dean from beside Castiel. “You come to pick me up for a night on the town? Been a while, ya know. I was starting to feel neglected.”

He forgot Benny was there. 

And just as quickly as he began to float with the joy of seeing Dean, a lead weight anchors in his gut because  _ of course  _ Dean is here to see Benny. He should’ve known. Why would Dean come for him? 

“You wish. I just left Bobby’s. Figured I better swing by here on my way home to make sure you left my housemate standing on two feet.” Dean’s looking right at Castiel as he responds to Benny, his smile never faltering.

_ Oh.  _

“Well he’s perfectly capable of walking the entire three blocks back to your house unassisted, if that’s what’s got your britches in a bunch.” Sarcasm drips from the comment but Dean doesn’t react to it and Benny waits a beat before clearing his throat and continuing. “Anyway, his second shift starts tomorrow at four, if he’s up for it.” 

Dean pins him with his gaze. “What do you say, Steve? You stickin’ around?”

Castiel is aware of the deeper implication lying below the surface of that question and he’s afraid to believe in the hum of hope he thinks he hears behind the words. 

The truth is, he wouldn’t mind putting in a few more days worth of work, enough to get a train ticket and some pocket change, at least. The fact that he’d be among pleasant company if he stays makes the decision an easy one. Maybe too easy.

“I think so, if that’s alright.” Eyes still locked on Dean’s, he’s responding to the part of the question that has nothing to do with the job.

“‘Course it is,” Benny gives him a hearty slap on his shoulder and he jumps at the contact, (seriously,  _ why  _ does he keep forgetting that Benny is standing  _ right next to him? _ ) “That’s how jobs work, kid. You gotta come back the next day and the next and the day after that, so I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Dean pops up off the car and slaps his hands together. “Awesome. Let’s go, Cas—” Castiel freezes at the same moment Dean’s shoulders visibly tense, obviously aware of the slip up. “—per”, he finishes, lamely. 

“Casper?” Benny questions, not having missed a beat. 

“Yeah, you know...  _ Casper _ . Steve is like my very own little friendly ghost, wandering around my house and keeping me company. Except he’s not invisible. At least not that I know of.” Dean gives Benny a big, cheesy grin, trying to sell it.

It’s the worst lie he’s ever heard. No way is Benny going to buy it. 

“That’s an absolute shit nickname, you know that? I honestly don’t know how I put up with you and I sure as hell don’t know how  _ Casper  _ here can either.” Benny appears to be holding back a laugh while he turns to look at Castiel with false severity. “You know, it’s not too late for you yet, but if you don’t get out soon, you might actually have to be stuck with him. Take it from me.”

Castiel has to immediately remind himself that Benny is joking. He and Dean both are. This is silly banter between two friends and he’s simply caught in the middle. There’s no real credibility that Dean may actually want to be friends, let alone  _ stay _ friends with Castiel. But that doesn’t stop the little bud of longing from blooming behind his ribcage - the one that whispers just how good it would feel to have the affection of someone like Dean in his life, the one that comes just before the crushing reminder that he doesn’t. 

“Fuck off, Benny. I’m awesome and you know it.” 

“Whatever you have to tell yourself to get you through the day, brother.” Benny shakes his head as he turns to walk away down the street towards where his own car is parked. He acts exasperated but Castiel can tell he’s amused with their exchange. With his back turned he waves a hand in the air. “Goodnight gentlemen. See you tomorrow, Steve.” 

Castiel exchanges a glance with Dean but other than calling out their own goodbyes, they don’t dare say another word until safely in the car. Once inside, Dean gently bangs his head against the steering wheel. “Well, that was close. I can’t believe he bought it.”

“Me either. It was quite a terrible lie.” Castiel chuckles lightly, partly because of how ridiculous it is but also to shake off his nerves. Dean really covered for him in front of one of his own friends. He’s under no obligation whatsoever to keep Castiel’s secrets, and yet he was so quick to do it anyway. 

Dean sits up and looks over. “Wow. One day with Benny and you’re already calling me out? Maybe this was a bad idea.” Dean’s eyes are shining with playful jest as he starts the engine and yet a part of Castiel still worries that he’s serious, so he doesn’t respond and simply buckles his seat belt. 

Expecting a silent ride home, he’s surprised when Dean starts speaking again before the car even pulls away from the curb. “So now that bossman isn’t within earshot, how was it, truly?” 

He considers his answer. “It was… nice. Benny seems like a very capable manager, which is good because there’s a lot to learn.” 

“So you really wanna go back tomorrow?” Dean’s voice doesn’t sound regretful but Castiel needs to make sure. 

“I think so, yes. But Dean, if you—“

Dean cuts him off. “Listen,  _ Casper _ . If you’re about to ask me if it’s okay, I’m going to take this time to remind you that it was my idea in the first place. You’re welcome in my home while you get on your feet, as long as you don’t ask me if I’m ‘sure’ for at least another week. New house rule, capeesh?” Dean looks at him from across the bench seat, expectant of an answer.

“Yes, I capeesh.” 

“Good. Glad we got that sorted.” Dean winks at him and the dizzying effect that follows must be from all the beer fumes at the bar. Yeah, he should really be careful about those. 

Castiel lets himself relax with the way Dean’s words put him at ease. He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve Dean’s kindness but time and again Dean keeps giving freely of himself. It’s astonishing and it’s what provides Castiel the courage to continue their conversation as they make the short drive down the street. 

“So Benny, he um, he told me that you two have been friends for a long time?”

“Ha. He’s not wrong. Benny and I go way back. Friends since high school. That guy has stuck with me through some shit.” There’s a softness to his voice, like he’s mentally rolling through a reel of fond memories, and it’s apparent that Benny is yet another someone that Dean cares deeply about. “He’s one of the good ones.”

Castiel refuses to feel envious. He has no right. 

Luckily, they’re already pulling into the drive and Dean’s jumping out of the car to open the gate. Once inside the house, Castiel asks about Dean’s family dinner and they end up chatting for a while about who was there and what they ate. As if not already thoughtful enough, Dean presents two pieces of peach cobbler that he “rescued” from Bobby and they sit on the couch enjoying the dessert together. 

He asks how the Sunday dinners started and Dean explains that they’ve been doing it since he and his brother were children. Castiel wants to pry and prod and ask a million more questions but he sticks with the polite basics. He’s noticed that Dean becomes guarded when referring to his past and he rarely elaborates beyond simplistic answers and the occasional quirky anecdote. 

Castiel senses that there’s a whole ocean of information hidden just below Dean’s cool, calm surface and he wants nothing more than to dive into the depths of everything that is Dean, but there’s really no point, is there? Castiel isn’t Benny and this is all temporary. Someday very soon he’ll move on and Dean will continue to exist in this town without him.

Something about that thought makes his heart ache. 

***

The next two days are awkward but not unpleasant as they find their rhythm existing in the same space. Dean leaves for work in the morning and Castiel is left on his own until lunchtime when Dean comes back to the house with a couple of sandwiches from the deli down the street for them to eat together. Castiel leaves for The Roadhouse before Dean finishes at the shop and even though Castiel gets home late from his own shift, Dean is awake, playing games on his phone or watching tv. Both nights there’s a plate of food covered in foil on the kitchen counter waiting for him from the meal Dean cooked earlier in the evening. 

“Dean, you don’t need to do this for me,” he says the second night it happens. 

“Listen, I cook myself dinner most nights, so it’s not like it’s difficult to add a little extra and make a plate for you. No big deal.” Dean shrugs as he shuts off the tv and heads to the bathroom to brush his teeth, leaving the door open. 

“Well at least let me do something in return,” Castiel calls from the kitchen. 

Dean takes a few steps out of the bathroom to look at Castiel, toothbrush tucked into the side of his cheek. He removes it before he speaks. “Are you kidding? In the past two days I’ve come home to the laundry done and folded, the carpet vacuumed, and my kitchen and bathroom scrubbed, including the floors. I hate doing floors. Consider us even.” Dean walks back into the bathroom and adds with a shout, “actually, pretty sure I’m the one indebted to you!”

“That’s not at all possible,” he replies, but he’s not sure Dean hears him. 

During the hours he’s spent alone in Dean’s house, Castiel has done everything he can think of to earn his keep and be the perfect houseguest but it doesn’t feel like anywhere near enough. He wishes Dean would ask something of him, tell him what else is needed or give him a project. Then again, Castiel isn’t good for much, doesn’t have any trades or special skills he can offer. Growing up the way he did, everything was always done for him, his mother throwing money at other people whenever she needed anything. It’s a wonder he can even clean properly, but he acquired that particular skill by hanging out with their house cleaner, Hannah, and helping her. If his mother wasn’t home to see him “degrade himself”, he would insist upon cleaning his own room and bathroom or helping Hannah in the kitchen.

Dean finishes up in the bathroom while Castiel eats the rest of his meal in silence. It’s homemade teriyaki chicken over rice, not the frozen stuff, and it’s delicious. He’s still eating when Dean comes back out. 

“So my next day off is on Thursday. What about you?” he asks behind a yawn, looking tired and ready for bed. 

“Ellen asked me to work through the weekend with Benny, so I actually have Thursday off as well.”

“Excellent. What do you say we run some errands? My fridge is lookin’ pretty sparse and if you come with me you can tell me what kind of food and snacks you like. After that, we can hit up a few other places, get you some black t-shirts so you have more than just the one, maybe another pair of jeans.”

“Dean, I... I can’t exactly afford all that right now. I need to save what I make.”

“I know, which is exactly why we’re going to do it.” Dean rolls his eyes when Castiel looks at him like he’s got three heads. “You have a job right now, Cas. Your job is how you’re going to make some money but in order to keep that job, you need clothes and sustenance. Duh.” 

Castiel tries to rationalize that he can just eat ramen ( _ You’re not eating ramen in my house unless you’re sick, drunk, or desperate, Cas _ ), and wash his one outfit every other day ( _ I have to live with you, which means I have to smell you, so there’s no way that’s happening _ ), but Dean won’t listen ( _ I’ve got it covered, Cas _ ). 

Dean is all too persuasive with his wit and his charm and his stupid, annoying, perfect smile. It’s so… so…  _ infuriating  _ and...  _ irresistible. _ It makes Castiel want to hike right back to Bagyo Bay just to stand at the ocean’s edge so he can scream into the infinite horizon. 

He doesn’t do that, of course. Instead, he swallows any remaining pride he might’ve had left, ignores the embarrassment churning in his gut, and stomps down the worry building in the back of his mind at just how easily Dean can sway his judgement. 

On Thursday, they go shopping. 

The afternoon is warm and pleasant and Dean makes for excellent company, which somehow still manages to surprise Castiel with each new day. They shop for the clothing first and that’s easy enough: two extra pairs of jeans and a cheap, plastic-wrapped pack of plain black t-shirts for his shifts at The Roadhouse. Castiel gets distracted when they walk past the aisle full of socks, thinking about the few threadbare pairs he has left with holes wearing in the heels and although he doesn’t mention anything out loud, the next time he looks down into their cart, there’s a package of new socks, too. Dean doesn’t acknowledge a thing about it. 

Castiel puts his foot down when Dean suggests they get him a new pair of shoes next, though. His shoes are just fine, dirty maybe, but completely adequate. He promises that he’ll buy his own shoes when he gets paid. He has to draw the line somewhere and thankfully Dean concedes, though he immediately marches to the area with bathroom essentials and stubbornly makes sure Castiel has a brand new toothbrush, deodorant, and razors. (Dean let him borrow his electric razor a few days ago and he was finally able to shave his beard, and now that it’s manageable again, he can use razors for the upkeep). 

Once that’s out of the way they head to the grocery store where Castiel is even more useless than he was at the department store. 

Castiel pushes the cart as Dean strolls the aisles speaking a hundred miles an hour while talking about ideas for different meals to cook. He goes on about which meats goes best with which seasonings, the pros and cons of a marinade versus a dry rub, what he prefers to grill compared to pan-fry, and all the opinions about all the side dishes. Castiel learns that Dean’s brother (Sam is his name) often calls to check up on him and is apparently a “health freak”, so Dean makes an effort to add at least one vegetable to his meal at least three times a week. Dean seems very proud of the accomplishment, so Castiel chooses not to speak up and correct him when he classifies cherry tomatoes as a vegetable instead of a fruit.

Even though he has absolutely no right to express his own opinions when it comes to what Dean puts in their shopping cart, Dean insists on it, so Castiel shares his thoughts when they’re requested. He’s really not that picky anyway but he tries to do what Dean asks of him. ( _ Yes, he likes potatoes. No, he has nothing against eating a steak and the answer is always medium rare. Yes, he enjoys cheeseburgers. No, he actually doesn’t like mustard on his sandwiches, but yes, he likes avocados. And of course pie is better than cake  _ \- this last one earns him a very enthusiastic “hell yeah it is.”). Acting as if they actually matter, Dean considers each of Castiel’s responses before leading the cart down the next aisle and the next. 

When it’s time to check out the cart is full and Castiel’s head is spinning. To him, it just looks like an entire mess of random ingredients but he paid close attention as Dean spoke and even if most things went right over his head, he knows that everything in their cart has a purpose. 

“Where did you learn to cook?” Castiel finally musters up the courage to ask. “This all seems so… creative.” 

“Ellen mostly, though Bobby insisted that he be the one to teach Sam and I how to use a grill. Sam sucks at it by the way but then again, he prefers salads over burgers so what does he know.”

“And you enjoy it? Cooking?” 

“I mean, I’ve never really thought about it too much but now that you’re asking, yeah, I really do. Reminds me of being in the kitchen with Ellen and watching her work her magic. It was the only time she let me sit on top of the counter. I would ask her a million questions and she never got irritated, just answered and explained the steps to me. Sam would try to join us every once in a while but he would get bored after two minutes and then bail, so it was almost always just us and she always let me help.” Dean smiles wistfully. “I think that’s how I figured out she really cared for me, ya know? That I was more than just an obligation. Whenever we had it out, and boy did we have it out sometimes, she would cook a dinner she knew I liked once she cooled off. It was like our silent truce.”

He holds his breath as Dean shares this little piece of his life with him, the sweet look on his face making Castiel feel honored to be privy to something so personal. What he expects even less than Dean opening up to him in the middle of a grocery store is the rush of emotions that follow, most strongly being the longing for his own mother. 

Naomi Novak is still alive and well but Castiel longs for the mother she never was, the mother that should have made him breakfast and taught him how to ride a bike or bake a cake. She’s a hard, cold woman and though he never had to want for anything, sometimes what he really needed was a kind word or a warm embrace.

It strikes him then that Dean’s not actually talking about his own mother, he’s talking about Ellen. In fact, other than the old photo sitting on the shelf in his living room, Dean’s never even mentioned his parents. Castiel wants to ask, he wants to know why Ellen and Bobby seemed to have raised Dean and his brother. Are his parents still around? Does he miss them? 

But he doesn’t mention it. It’s not his place. Instead, he nods politely and graciously appreciates the little bit that Dean is willing to share. 

On the drive back to the house, Dean unexpectedly pulls into the parking lot of a hardware store. He tells Castiel to stay put and that he’ll be right back, then rushes inside while leaving the car still running. The late afternoon has grown to be quite warm and with the sun beating down on the black car with the leather interior, he’s appreciative that he can keep the air on. 

When Dean returns, he hops back in the car and twists his body to face Castiel. “Here,” he announces, holding out a tiny envelope.

Castiel accepts it. “What’s this?”

“Your own key,” Dean says, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. 

“To your house?” 

“Well duh. If you’re staying with me you should at least feel free to come and go as needed without having to worry about my schedule. I want you to feel comfortable, Cas, even if your stay is only temporary.”

Castiel spends the rest of the drive home internally debating whether the heat he feels pulsating at the tips of his ears is because of Dean or because of the sun shining through the windshield. He knows the answer but he blames the sun anyway.

At night, he lies awake for far too long, staring at the ceiling of the house he’s been a guest in for a week as of tomorrow. How did he get here? It all seems so very random. Of all the places he could have landed and of all the people he could have met, how did he find Dean? The scarier question is: how long does he plan to stay? Hell, how long before Dean tells him he can’t stay any longer?

In the back of his mind, the place that he doesn’t want to acknowledge but can’t completely forget, he knows he needs to make a plan to move on. He needs to sort out a timeline, a schedule, and stick to it. He needs to leave San Seton and to stop being such a burden on his selfless host. 

As he lays there mindlessly tracing his finger over the letters of Dean’s AC/DC shirt that he still wears at night, he makes up his mind; he’s going to work for Ellen only long enough to earn the money to pay Dean back at least most of what is owed, to purchase a train ticket, and to have enough money for food for one week. The money he’s got saved will pay for a deposit on a studio. 

A rough calculation tells him that he probably only needs about another two week’s worth of work, tops. Just two (and less than if Benny keeps sharing his tips). Then he can leave and begin his new life. It’ll be great. It’s what he’s wanted for so long, to strike out on his own and make his own way, getting out from under the thumb of his oppressive family. He’ll finally have his freedom. 

So why does his chest feel tight at the thought of leaving and why does he have to clench his fists closed just to keep his eyes dry? 

To calm himself, he slows his breathing. As his heart rate lowers he can hear Dean snoring softly from his bedroom and, without realizing, Castiel matches his breaths with the rhythm of Dean’s exhales. 

The comfort lulls him to sleep.

***

The week that follows is far from uneventful. 

On Saturday night Castiel works another closing shift with Benny. It’s his busiest night yet with the weekend crowd bursting with extra energy and a large bachelorette party to appease on top of that. It’s an endless barrage of rowdy, drunk, mostly college-aged young men and women and at one point things get out of hand when a fight breaks out. Luckily, it’s over before it ever really begins thanks to Benny’s quick action. His finesse in handling the situation leaves Castiel in awe. Benny is strong and fiercely intimidating but he doesn’t raise his voice and he doesn’t draw a crowd. He handles the unruly patrons with quiet authority and then continues with his job as if nothing happened. It’s impressive. 

Castiel tries to imagine how Dean would’ve handled the conflict if he were here but he shakes the thought away when he realizes that Dean would probably be spending the majority of the night flirting with all the women. Dean likes to flirt, Castiel’s noticed, and he’s quite good at it, though he’s never taken it further than a flash of a smile and a wink. Dean’s wink never fails to leave the recipient doe-eyed and blushing - Castiel would know. 

By the time he gets back to the house he’s dead on his feet. He unlocks the front door with his own key and finds Dean half asleep on the couch. There are several empty beer bottles scattered on the coffee table along with dirty dishes and an opened bag of chips, and some movie that Castiel doesn’t recognize is playing far too loudly on the tv. 

Dean jumps when Castiel walks through the front door. 

“Hiya, Cas,” he says, obviously a little dazed. 

“Hello, Dean.” 

“I was just havin’ a beer—,” Dean looks around and seems to realize the state of the living room for the first time. “—or five. You hungry? There’s mac n’ cheese on the stove… I think. I might’ve eaten it all, actually.” He slowly extracts himself from the couch and sways slightly as he does so. 

“Are you alright?” Castiel has never seen Dean in such a state of disarray. It’s concerning.

“Yup. ‘M fine. Yuh wanna watch  _ Die Hard _ with me? It's the best.” Dean isn’t quite slurring his words, but he’s definitely drunk.

“I appreciate the offer but I really need to shower. Why don’t I get you some water, though, okay?” 

“Yeah, tha’sa good idea.” He plops back down onto the couch while Castiel goes to the kitchen.

Once Dean is settled with his water and instructed to drink as much as possible, Castiel works to clear the bottles and dishes from the table before finally taking his shower, the smell of alcohol overwhelming now that it’s coming from his own clothes and Dean’s entire living room. 

By the time he gets out of the shower Dean’s no longer on the couch and his bedroom door is closed, so Castiel turns off the tv, tidies the rest of the room, wipes down the coffee table, and makes up his makeshift bed. When he’s finally able to lay his head down, sleep comes quickly.

A short time later, he’s jolted awake with the sound of a shout. 

He hears sputtered yelps of “ _ no _ ” and “ _ please _ ” and “ _ sorry _ ” coming from Dean’s bedroom. The cries have Castiel up off the couch and at Dean’s door in record time, his heart in his throat. He doesn’t bother with knocking and throws the door open, adrenalin pulsing through his veins. He finds Dean in his bed, thrashing against an invisible attacker. It takes his brain a few seconds to catch up and realize that Dean’s eyes are closed - he’s dreaming. 

“Dean?” he calls out, unsure of how best to handle this, but there’s no response. 

He tries again, louder this time. “Dean!” 

Still no answer. 

Watching Dean in distress, subconscious or otherwise, twists Castiel’s heart into an ugly knot. He approaches the bed carefully and shakes Dean by the shoulder, feeling as though he’s intruding on something he’s not supposed to see but still determined to help. It takes a few shakes before Dean blinks his eyes open, startled and confused. 

“Huh? Cas? What’s going on?” he asks, sitting up onto his elbows. “What’re you doing in my room?

“I… I heard yelling. I think you were having a nightmare.”

Dean looks around the room and notices the sheets twisted around his legs and then runs the back of his hand along his forehead, wiping away a sheen of sweat. He falls back onto his pillow with a quiet thud as he covers his face with his hands. “Fuck.” 

“Are you um… are you okay? Do you need anything?” 

With his hands still covering his face, Dean’s answer is sharp and abrupt. “I’m fine. You can leave now.”

Castiel doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s in Dean’s private space, uninvited and out of line. He retreats quickly and closes the door behind him. 

When he wakes in the morning he doesn’t expect the house to be empty because it’s Sunday and Dean’s day off but he spots a large cup of coffee and a blueberry muffin sitting on the coffee table, a note folded in front of it. 

_ Cas,  _

_ I’m sorry you had to see that and I’m sorry I woke you. Hope the coffee helps.  _

_ ~ Dean _

A warmth washes over him, and it’s not from the coffee. 

***

Tuesday is Castiel’s day off. 

While Dean is at the shop he makes himself a cup of coffee and gets to his self-appointed chores, the first being the laundry. There’s a few day’s worth of clothes piled up and he really needs to wash the blankets he’s been sleeping on. 

A few hours into his morning, as he’s folding the last of the clean blankets, there’s a knock on the front door. He looks around as if expecting Dean to come out of his bedroom but a quick check confirms that he’s alone in the house. He’s not sure if he should open the door or not but as he stares at it, he notices there’s a peephole and he peeks through it. On the other side of the door there’s a tall woman with short, dark hair standing there. She’s in a Sheriff’s uniform and Castiel’s heart bottoms out.  _ They found him. _ This must be Michael’s doing. It has to be. 

Castiel takes a slow step back, trying not to make a sound as his mind races to think of a solution. He can’t be arrested, right? He hasn’t committed a crime. Or has he? Doesn’t matter. What matters is that he has to find a way to tell Dean he’s leaving before they take him away. 

His eyes dart around the room while the second knock comes, more forcefully the second time. His eyes land on the pictures Dean has in his living room, the one of his family.  _ Oh right. _ Dean’s family. Bobby’s wife is a Sheriff.  _ Of course _ . He lets out a slow breath. He really needs to pull himself together or anxiety will kill him long before Michael ever has the chance to find him. 

He shakes out his hands to get them to stop trembling and he opens the door. 

“Hi there! You must be Dean’s friend. I’m Jody. Can I come in?” Jody doesn’t wait for an answer as she steps through the door and into the entryway.

“Hi. I’m Steve. Nice to meet you. You’re Bobby’s wife?” He extends his hand and she shakes it with an especially firm grip.

“Sure am. I needed to drop off some paperwork for Dean. He said you’d be here.” Jody surveys the room and Castiel wonders what she’s looking for. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“Not at all. I’m just finishing up some laundry.” He’s thankful that the pile of clothes neatly folded on the couch corroborates his story because he’s got a strong feeling that he’s being sized up. Well, if this woman is the wife of Dean’s surrogate father (does that make Jody Dean’s pseudo-step-mom?), the least Castiel can do is properly represent the household by playing a worthy host. “I’m sure you know your way around the house, but can I get you something to drink or anything?” 

“Oh, no thank you. I’ve got to be on my way. Duty calls. I’m just going to leave this on the counter.” She holds up a manilla envelope and walks further into the room, placing it on the bartop. “You’ll see that he gets it? It’s important.” 

“Of course.” 

“Great. Thank you, Steve. And uh, I work at the station not far from here, so if you ever need anything, anything at all, I can be here in a flash. Any time of day or night. If need be, I can also send one of my many deputies. Understood?”

Castiel knows the subtle art of flexing one’s power, he is his mother's son after all, so he makes sure to play along. “Yes, ma’am. Absolutely.” 

“Right. Well, I’ll be going then. Have a good day.” And with that, Jody exits and Castiel is left wondering if he passed inspection. 

Later that afternoon he’s reading on the couch when he hears a low, rhythmic thumping coming from outside. Curiosity gets the better of him so he goes out front to inspect the sound’s origin and realizes it’s loud rock music coming from the other side of the tire wall. He walks over to the hole in the wall and peeks his head through. Dean’s leaning over the exposed engine of his truck, hips swaying and lips mouthing along to the music. It’s a beautiful sight.

Castiel must stare for far too long because Dean senses his presence and looks up at him from across the yard. A wide smile spreads across his face when their eyes meet and Dean gestures for him to come over. 

“Hello, Dean,” he says when he gets there. 

“Hiya, sunshine.” Dean straightens and grabs a rag to wipe his hands, then leans his hips against the side of the truck, attention focused directly on Castiel, his smile still firmly in place. 

“I heard the music and was trying to figure out where it was coming from. I apologize, I didn’t mean to intrude.” 

“Definitely not intruding. I don’t work on the truck on Bobby’s time, so if you see me out here working on her feel free to come over. We finished up at the shop early today but I'm stayin’ close in case he needs me. You’re welcome to stick around and hang out.” 

“I’d like that.” 

Dean turns the music down and grabs Castiel a chair. They spend the next two hours together while Dean works on the truck, explaining the parts he’s fixing and what he plans to do next, answering all of Castiel’s questions with childlike excitement. In turn, Castiel learns the names of the tools as he hands Dean what he needs, still trying to remain useful. 

As Dean cleans up before calling it a day, sure that Bobby doesn’t need him for anything, Castiel runs back to the house and grabs them a couple of beers. They enjoy a drink together as the sun goes down, soaking up the last of the day’s warmth in each other’s company. 

Castiel doesn’t think about how easily he could get used to this… or how much he already has.

***

When Thursday rolls around they both have the same day off again. Dean has to leave for an appointment, though he doesn’t explain further. He just says that he’ll be back in the early evening and leaves dressed in a suit. He looks good in a suit and Castiel tries to tell him so, but the words get stuck and only come out as “have fun.”

Once he’s done dwelling on his embarrassment, Castiel decides to explore the town. 

He takes his time walking up and down the streets, stopping in shops that appear interesting and trying to commit the layout to memory. He recognizes Dean’s favorite coffee shop and indulges in grabbing a cup before continuing down to the far end of Egret Street, past the town square. Where he would normally make a quick right to get to The Roadhouse, Castiel makes a left to see what’s on the opposite end and that’s when he comes upon a huge library, tucked away just off the main drag. 

The building is far larger than what he would expect in a town so small, ornate wooden doors at the entrance and at least three stories high. It’s a beautiful building and it looks historic. Castiel is drawn inside immediately. 

Sitting at the front desk is a cheery redhead with a bright smile. “Well hi there, stranger. Welcome to my domain. What brings you in today?” 

“Hello. Um, no particular reason. I was just walking by and thought I’d take a look around, if that’s okay.” 

“‘Course it is! Here’s a directory to help you find your way around.” The woman hands him a small pamphlet. “My name’s Charlie. Just let me know if you need anything.”

Castiel thanks her but just as he’s about to step away, something on the pamphlet catches his eye. “Music rooms? You have music rooms?” 

“Sure do! They’re that way—” she points across the lobby and in the direction of a long hall “—towards the back on this level. You can make reservations for specific rooms but walk-ins are also welcome. We have a couple of regulars and the rooms get busy on occasion but there’s usually something available.”

“Do you have piano rooms?”

“Boy, do we! Go back there and check ‘em out. There should be a few rooms open right now. You play?”

“I do, actually. A little. And thank you, Charlie.” 

Castiel follows to where Charlie pointed and finds the music rooms, several of them down a long corridor. He looks through the small window of each door to find that many are already in use but he walks all the way to the end and finds one with a piano that’s empty. He goes inside, closes the door behind him, and he sits at the bench. 

Castiel hasn’t sat at a piano in months, probably closer to a year now that he thinks about it, but suddenly the thought of being able to play again has his fingers itching to find keys. It’s something he’s done since childhood but due to the way in which his mother often used piano as a form of discipline, his attitude towards the instrument regularly oscillated between love and hate. As an adult, however, and without the confines of necessity, playing music has become somewhat of a solace over the past few years. It breaks his heart to think about how long he may have to go without it, but for now, maybe he can have this. 

Castiel clears his mind and he plays. 

He plays solely from memory to an empty room and not without error but for a moment, among all his uncertainty and heartbreak and pain, Castiel feels whole again. 

Two hours pass in a blink and if it wasn’t for the digital clock on the wall, he’d never have known, but he should get going. He leaves the music room feeling more relaxed than he has since he arrived in San Seton and decides to walk around the rest of the library before leaving. He’s mesmerized by everything they have available and he knows without a doubt that he’ll be back the first chance he gets. 

As he’s about to leave he walks past a cookbook display that catches his attention. The display highlights the benefits of shopping fresh at local farmer’s markets and encourages the community to bring their families together by way of home-cooked meals. There are a variety of cookbooks available to be checked out, so Castiel grabs one with an idea forming in his mind. 

He sees Charlie again on his way out. They briefly chat about his time spent in the music room and then she helps him get a library card and checkout the cookbook. He likes her - she’s spunky and inquisitive without being overbearing. She has a contagious smile and is instantly likeable and he can’t wait to come back and visit his music room again. 

But for now, he has to go. He’s got a plan for this cookbook and only a few hours to get everything ready.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean’s had a long day. A long fucking day. 

It’s not even early evening yet but spending all afternoon at the courthouse totally blows and pretty much ruins the entire day, start to finish. Being there makes him want to crawl out of his skin and the self-loathing that bubbles to the surface is suffocating, or maybe that’s just his damn tie nearly choking him to death. He took it off an hour ago but the effects are residual. 

He just wants to get home. He wants to get home and maybe hang out with Cas or something. That would be nice. They can share a pizza and a six pack and watch a movie. Or maybe Cas might want to go out? Dean wonders if Cas would even know what movies are currently playing in theatres because maybe they can do something like that? Get outta the house for a change.

The various possibilities of an evening with his housemate thankfully start to suppress all of the day’s bullshit and he drives that last few blocks home with a sense of eager anticipation for the first time all day. In his relief and excitement he’s practically on autopilot as he pulls up to the gate. When he gets out of the car to open it he smells smoke in the air and wonders which neighbors are barbecuing, which… is actually a great idea. He should definitely make a shopping list so he and Cas can grill some steaks the next time they both have the evening off. Maybe even Benny can join them. Bobby, too, if Jody’s working the night shift. They could have a guy’s night. 

It’s not until after he parks his car under the awning and steps out of it again that he notices that the smoke he smells is puffing out of a thin gap in the kitchen window. Just as his brain makes the connection, the smoke alarms sound from within the house.

_ No no no. Oh god, no.  _

Dean races to the front door, heart beat loud in his ears. He taps the door handle to make sure it’s not hot before trying to open it. It’s locked. 

_ Fuckfuckfuck. _

He pounds on the door and shouts for Cas as he fumbles with his keys to try and get it opened. 

“Cas! Are you in there?!” He thinks he hears some sort of response but he can’t make it out. 

He  _ finally  _ manages to unlock the door and throws it open, terrified of what he’s going to find as he’s hit with a wave of heat and the piercing sound of the alarms. Through the haze that covers the living room he recognizes immediately that the smoke is coming from the kitchen, Cas in the middle of it all. Dean heads straight for him and as he gets closer he begins to fit the pieces together. 

There’s something burning in the oven and thick plumes of smoke are billowing from it, filling the kitchen and seeping through to the rest of the house. There’s also an overflowing pot on the gas stove with flames licking up the sides of it. Cas is frantically waving a dish towel around in a fruitless attempt to fan the smoke, clearly panicking, so Dean grabs him firmly by the shoulders and pulls him back away from the appliances. In a rush to get things under control, he slams the oven door closed and immediately shuts off both the oven and the burner, yelling to Cas to open every window in the house and to close the doors to the bedrooms to keep the smoke contained to the front rooms. 

But Cas doesn’t move. He stays standing there, wide-eyed and stricken. 

Dean ducks his head and places it directly in Cas’s field of vision, forcing him to focus and make eye contact. 

“Cas? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” he shouts over the sound of the alarms. 

“No. I— I’m okay. I’m fine,” Cas stutters, snapping out of his daze. 

“Okay. I’ll handle this. Go open all the windows. Can you do that?”

Cas nods before making his way around the house doing exactly what Dean asked, then Dean turns to assess the damage. The pot has stopped boiling over and the flames are gone, but whatever’s in the oven is still heavily smoking. He opens the kitchen window as wide as it’ll go and then runs to grab a large fan from the closet in the spare room. Thankfully, between the opened front door and windows, and with the added help of the fan, there’s enough of a cross breeze that the smoke alarms finally turn off.

Dean cracks the oven door back open and begins to let the smoke slowly escape as it cools. When things are mostly under control and his pulse no longer feels like it’s about to beat his heart right out of his chest, he takes a deep breath and leans against the counter. “Jesus, Cas. What the fuck happened?” He turns to see that Cas is standing directly behind him again looking, well… 

His hair is in chaotic disarray with patches of white standing out in contrast against the dark tufts. There’s a streak of white on his forehead and his ear, and another on his cheek. Dean realizes it’s flour and it’s  _ everywhere _ . Cas’s eyes are as wide and wild as his hair and he’s wearing one of Dean’s aprons. It’s covered in what looks like the entire contents of the spice cabinet and there’s a wooden spoon sticking out of the front pocket. Cas looks utterly and completely wrecked.

Dean’s immediate instinct is to reach out and comfort him, to soothe the terror written all over his face. And he nearly does… until he notices which apron Cas is wearing.

Cas, that beautiful little disaster, is standing in the middle of Dean’s smoke-filled kitchen with the words “Rub the Butt, Pull the Pork” scribbled across his chest, complete with an image of a pig between the lettering. It was a gift from Benny several years ago and something tells him that Cas is absolutely clueless about the crude pun. 

Dean loses it. 

The sound that comes out of his mouth begins as a chuckle but when Cas tilts his head to the side in confusion, Dean can’t stop himself. Suddenly, he’s outright laughing, arching his spine and tilting his head back with the force of it. 

It might be an inappropriate reaction but he’s going to let himself have this because, god, it feels good to laugh. It’s like the weight of today is falling off his shoulders and it’s freeing. If he were completely honest with himself right now he would acknowledge the fact that no one has ever been able to make him feel this way after a court date. Not once. Not even Benny.

When he finally collects himself Cas is staring at him, jaw hanging slightly open like he wants to say something but isn’t sure what. His eyes are watering and he looks like he’s about to break, but that’s probably just the smoke.

“Why are you laughing?” he asks, further tilting his head to the side and scrunching his eyebrows together. “Did you inhale too much smoke?”

Wiping at his own eyes, Dean realizes that they actually should get some fresh air. “Sorry man, but you are one hell of a sight to see right now. Do you even know what you’re wearing?” Cas looks even more perturbed. “Nevermind. Come on, let’s get outside.” With a gentle guiding hand he leads Cas out the front door where they both take several deep breaths. 

Cas falls into a coughing fit and Dean instinctively rubs his back through it, conscientiously choosing to ignore the firm muscles shifting underneath the shirt, but the mayday message doesn’t travel from his brain down his arm fast enough and his hand lingers for a second too long. Fuck. He needs a distraction. Oh right, something burning. 

“So do I even wanna know what it is that’s turning to ash in my oven?” he asks, taking an intentional step away from Cas. 

“Dean. I— I’m so fucking sorry. God, I’m so sorry. I… I don’t know what happened. I was just cooking and then everything went wrong all at once and I tried to fix it but then the smoke and the alarms and—” Cas’s words come tumbling out and he’s tripping over himself, so Dean interrupts. 

“Whoa. Hey. It’s fine. Okay? It’s just a little smoke. Well, it’s a lotta smoke, but it’ll air out. Nothing that can’t be fixed, alright?”

“I’ll do whatever you need me to do to make it right, I swear, Dean. Shit, I’m so sorry.” He’s frantic and beginning to pace, so Dean takes him by the upper arms to still him  _ (and holy shit, those are solid and firm as fuck, too. What the hell.) _

“Cas, look at me. It’s not a big deal. You’re fine, the house is fine, we’re all fine. That’s what matters, okay?” He waits for Cas to nod in response. “Now, wanna tell me what was going on in there?”

“I wanted to make you dinner,” Cas mumbles, looking at his feet. “And dessert. That’s what’s in the oven, the chocolate chip cookies. They seemed simple enough, so I made them first. Then I was trying to boil chicken but the pot overflowed and it was spilling everywhere, and then I knocked some pasta over the stove and then that’s when I noticed the smoke coming from the oven. It all happened at once. I’m so sorry.” 

“Have you ever cooked before?”

“No,” Cas mumbles, hiding his face and scratching at the back of his neck. 

“But you wanted to make me dinner?” Something inside of Dean twists. He both does and doesn’t want to hear the explanation that follows the question. 

“I just wanted to do something nice. You’re always cooking for me and you…” he shrugs as his sentence trails off. “I was at the library today and I found some cookbooks and the idea came to me and I just thought that it should be me doing something for you for once.”

The rush that washes over Dean’s nerves in that moment is surprising but it really shouldn’t be. For days there’s been a faint hum under his skin whenever he’s been around Cas and it’s only been getting stronger. He can’t explain it and he’s tried to suppress it but it’s there all the same. There’s just something about Cas. It’s not even just that he’s incredibly good looking (because he definitely is) but it’s so much more than that -  _ he’s  _ so much more than that - and Dean can’t understand a damn thing about it.

Every day Dean is reminded in one way or another of just how kind and good Cas is. Even though he has nothing he still gives and he tries and he cares, and he never ever takes without gratitude or humility. He’s attentive and sweet and polite and…  _ he tried to make Dean dinner _ . It’s more thought and effort than any of his exes have ever spent on him and that might just be more than he can take. 

If all bets were off and consequences didn’t exist (and he was totally certain that Cas was into dudes), he’d close the small distance between them right this moment. The urge is almost painfully strong, especially with how Cas is just standing there, oblivious to the flour in his hair and that damn apron and the way Dean’s heart is racing at the sight of him. 

He swallows back against the impulse. It’s not right. 

“I appreciate the gesture, but maybe we leave the cooking to me next time, yeah? Or at least let me supervise. Oh god, Ellen hasn’t asked you to work in her kitchen has she? That might be a safety hazard.” He tries to lighten the mood but Cas isn’t smiling.

“Next time?” Cas asks. 

“What do you mean? Of course  _ next time _ ! The kitchen’s still standing, isn’t it? But I’ll be confiscating the cookbook because you need some cooking training wheels first. We’ll start you off with the basics like grilled cheese or maybe scrambled eggs. Do you know how to pour a bowl of cereal?” 

This finally earns him a smile and Dean feels triumphant. 

They head back inside and look over the kitchen. On top of forgetting to set a timer for the cookies, it turns out that Cas also mistook a plastic cutting board for a baking tray. Cas looks so wholeheartedly ashamed when that little detail is discovered that Dean feels guilty enough to absorb some blame, confessing to Cas that it’s been far too long since he’s properly cleaned the oven of grease and prior spills.

They work together to clean up the mess throughout the entire kitchen, putting everything away, wiping the counters, mopping the floor, and throwing away the casualties of Cas’s cooking adventure. The oven is going to take some extra work but they can worry about it later. As they clean, Dean can’t figure out how the hell Cas made such a mess of every single surface. In fact, he’s pretty sure there’s actually spots of flour on the damn ceiling, but he doesn’t ask. 

By the time they’re done and changed out of their sweaty, smokey clothes and Dean no longer has on that stupid monkey suit (which will totally have to be dry cleaned now), Dean’s stomach is growling. 

“So. What’s for dinner? I’m starving,” he jokes, but Cas looks up at him, mortified. “Cas. Chill. I’m fucking with you. You up for a drive?” 

“A drive?” 

“I’m thinking we get out of this house, let it air out some more and go get our lungs some fresh beach air. What do you say? Clam chowder?” 

“You want to go to Bagyo Bay? After… after all this?” Cas points his finger at the stove as though he’s pointing out his own transgressions, offended by their existence. 

“Why not? We gotta eat. Plus, beach air is good for the soul. That’s just facts. Come on, we’ll let the professionals cook for us tonight.” 

There’s a moment too long of hesitation and Dean knows Cas wants to argue, he can see it in the way Cas physically shrinks with the weight of his guilt, his posture normally so proper and refined, and yeah, Dean needs to get them out of this house. “Grab your coat. We’re going.”

The drive to Bagyo Bay is quiet as they leave the city behind and the scenery evolves from hard concrete to lush greenery. It really is one of Dean’s absolute favorite drives to make. As Cas stares solemnly out the window next to him, he plays some music, unsure of how else to try and ease the tension.

They make their way to the part of the drive where the road emerges through the trees and opens up to wide ocean views as it winds along the coastline. Dean knows this place like the back of his hand and in exactly three turns and two small hills from now, there will be a small structure, best described as a trailer. It’s smaller than Dean’s own house and it’s instantly recognizable with bright pink and white stripes adorning the whole of the exterior. The place has been there since before Dean was born and it’s one of Bagyo’s special gems. 

“How do you feel about saltwater taffy?” he asks, breaking the silence and desperately hoping to breathe some life into the car. 

Cas sits up. “What’s that?” 

“Hold on. Are you telling me that you’ve never had saltwater taffy?” That just can’t be right.

“I… don’t think so?” 

And there he goes with that fucking adorable head tilt of his.  _ Come on _ .

Dean keeps trying to ignore all the little idiosyncrasies that make Cas so interesting and so goddamn attractive, the head tilt quite possibly the most adorable one of them all (or maybe it’s the way he bites his lower lip sometimes when he’s nervous, or the way his hair is always just a little bit messy, or maybe it’s the way he says Dean’s name… he really can’t be expected to decide, there are too many to choose from). 

“I was never allowed much candy as a child,” Cas continues, oblivious to Dean’s inner turmoil and his struggle to concentrate on the road ahead of him. “My mother was very strict about sweets. My brother Gabriel would occasionally obtain contraband and sneak me some, but that was rare.” 

“Well then it looks like we have a stop to make.” Dean guides the Impala around the curve and slows down to make a left turn into a small gravel parking lot. Cas perks up and watches attentively out the window as Dean parks the car. 

“Where are we?” he asks. 

“This place is called  _ Donna’s _ . Now I can tell you what’s inside or I can show you, but the second option is way more fun. Come on.” Dean climbs out and heads towards the shop as Cas follows closely behind. He opens the door, the bell above it ringing a light jingle to announce their entrance, and steps back to allow Cas to enter first. 

Dean’s not even all the way inside when the woman behind the counter pops up from her stool. “Well well well, would ya look at that! As I live and breathe, is that  _ the _ Dean Winchester?” 

“Hiya Donna,” he says behind a smile.

Donna bounces her way out from behind the counter. “Get over here and give me a hug, stranger! It’s been a whole hot minute since I’ve seen your beautiful face and my god, I nearly forgot how good lookin’ you are. Ain’t that just a damn crime.” 

“It’s good to see you, too.” He feels himself grow warm at the compliment and he can’t help the giddy grin he knows is plastered all over his face. She’s right, it has been a while and he enthusiastically returns the embrace when she throws her arms around him. 

“So what brings you my way?” she asks with an affectionate squeeze to his shoulder. Donna always has been the touchy-feely type. 

“You mean other than wanting to see you?” he teases, receiving a playful nudge in return. “Turns out I’ve got a taffy virgin on my hands and I couldn’t rightfully drive by and not get that situation rectified immediately. ” When he turns to Cas, Cas’s eyes are fixated on his shoulder where Donna’s hand had just been, his expression unreadable. “Donna, meet my friend,  _ Steve _ .”

He emphasizes Cas’s pseudonym to get his attention. It works, and Cas snaps his eyes up and refocuses, like he’d just forgotten his surroundings.

Donna looks at Cas and lights up with excitement. He extends his hand like he always does but Donna being Donna, she ignores it entirely and wraps her arms around him instead. Cas looks like a deer caught in headlights and it takes him a second to figure out that he’s supposed to hug her, too.

When Cas’s hand finds Donna’s back, a pulse of unbidden jealousy rises in Dean’s gut. He wishes it was him with his arms around Cas, not Donna, who just met the guy all of ten seconds ago. How is that fair? He’s been trying so hard to keep his distance and Donna doesn’t even hesitate to go all in. 

She releases Cas and steps back to stand next to Dean. “A virgin, huh? Well then, Steve, let me give you the exclusive grand tour. Can you go ahead and give me a spin?” 

“I’m sorry, what?” Cas asks, completely confused. 

“You heard me, mister. Give me a spin. Ya know, a twirl. A three-sixty. But do it slowly.” 

Cas looks to him for affirmation and Dean nods, making a circular motion in the air with his finger for encouragement. To his utter delight, Cas follows the instruction and stands in place while turning in a slow circle. 

“And voila! You have just had the grand tour,” Donna announces, proud of herself. 

“I don’t understand.” Cas squints and pinches his eyebrows together and Dean swears that if he does the head tilt one more time...

Thankfully, Cas’s chin stays perfectly aligned with his neck, so Dean’s safe, for now. 

“Look around you, Steve. If you gutted this place it’d still barely be big enough to fit Baby inside. Hell, you and I could stand side by side with our arms outstretched and nearly be able to touch each end of the walls.”

Cas appears to finally notice the candy shop for the first time, his eyes darting every which way taking it all in. 

The building, if you can even call it that, is so small that it’s comical. There’s almost no room to maneuver, so if more than two people are inside everyone is practically shoulder to shoulder. Dean’s grateful that, aside from Donna, it's just them right now. 

Directly across from the entrance door, there’s a small countertop with a register and just enough space for a stool behind it. To the right are a few shelves of souvenirs and knick knacks for the travelers passing through, but to the left is the good stuff. 

Lining the entire left side of the shop are bags upon bags of saltwater taffy in a hundred different colors, each flavor labeled with a flowery handmade card. 

“So what’ll it be, first-timer? We goin’ for a hand-picked selection or are you gonna risk it all and go for the assorted bag?” Donna asks, playfully bouncing her eyebrows at Cas. 

The poor guy looks lost as hell. Damn cute, though. 

“What do you think, Dean? I’m afraid I’m out of my element here.” 

Before he can answer, Donna grabs one of the small bags nearest the counter and opens it up. “Here. First one’s on me. Try it and make sure you like it. Just ‘cause Dean can eat his way through a one-pound bag in a single sitting doesn’t mean everyone can.” 

“Hey!’ Dean proteses. 

“Oh, like you’re gonna deny it?” She gives Dean a challenging glare and drops a piece of taffy into each of their hands. Dean shoves his piece into his mouth immediately, still pretending to be put out. Cas stares at the piece in his hand like he’s not sure what to do with it. “This one’s black raspberry lemonade. It’s brand new and already one of my favorites,” she tells them. 

“You don’t gotta be afraid of it, Cas. Just unwrap it and take a bite,” Dean says, still chewing. 

“Cas? Thought his name was Steve?” 

Fuck. Again?

“It is. His nickname is Casper. It’s a thing. Don’t worry about it.” Dean tries to play it off while using his tongue to pull the remaining bits of taffy off his teeth. 

“A nickname for a nickname? Seriously, Dean? Only you can get away with being so—” 

“Utterly adorable? Yeah, I know.” He cuts her off with a cheeky smirk and holds out his hand for another piece of taffy, eager to change the subject. She gives it to him. “So you gonna eat that, Steve, or what?”

Cas, who’s been quiet but intently focused on their conversation, finally unwraps the taffy and tentatively bites into it, selecting not to throw the whole thing in his mouth at once. He almost looks uninterested but Dean recognizes the exact moment when the flavor hits his taste buds. Cas’s entire face lights up and he smiles so big that Dean wishes he had been filming the moment. Cas goes to say something but he has to keep chewing, the taffy sticking to his teeth. 

Donna and Dean both laugh, knowing the feeling quite well. “It’s good, yeah?” Donna asks, and Cas nods his head enthusiastically, popping the second half of the taffy into his mouth without waiting. 

“Congrats on another successful convert, Donna. We did it.” They high five as Cas continues to chew. 

“Well, you know what to do, so I’ll leave you to it.” Donna moves back behind the counter, allowing the boys to browse and giving Cas time to explore all the different flavor options. 

After some deliberation and Cas arguing that he can’t possibly know which flavors he’ll like if he hasn’t tried them yet, Dean agrees to get the randomly assorted bag, but not without protest.

“But Cas, this bag always includes gross flavors like banana. No one ever wants  _ banana. _ ”

“How can I know if I don’t like it if I haven’t tasted it yet, Dean? An assorted bag is the most reasonable approach for maximum taste testing, and you said I should try all the flavors.”

“Yeah, all the  _ good  _ flavors,” Dean grumbles. 

He can’t believe Cas is using his own words against him but the smile on Cas’s face is worth it. Dean would buy him ten bags of nothing but banana flavored taffy if it would make him happy because absolutely anything is better than the broken expression that had become all too familiar during those first few days when they met. Thankfully, Cas’s mood has been steadily increasing over the last week. His smiles come more easily and there’s not nearly as much tension in the way he moves. Dean suspects that working at the bar and being around other people has helped with that tremendously, but either way, Cas is coming out of his shell and Dean is here for it.

They buy a large bag of the taffy and Donna gives them both another hug before they leave, warning Dean not to be such a stranger. By the time Dean gets back into the driver’s seat of his Baby, Cas is already settled and intently inspecting the bag in his lap.

The amusement of the situation has already made the air lighter between them. “You’re dying to eat another one right now, aren’t you?” Dean teases, unable to hide his grin.

“I’m very curious.” Cas looks like he wants to tear the bag open but is restraining for some reason.

“What are you waiting for? Open it up and try one. Guessing the flavors is literally the only fun part about getting the mixed bag.”

Cas doesn’t need to be told twice. He opens the bag and grabs a pink taffy, this time shoving the whole thing into his mouth instead of politely nibbling at it. 

“Mmmm. Tastes like strawberry,” he mumbles. Before he finishes chewing, Cas unwraps a second taffy and pops it straight into his mouth. He waits a beat and then announces, “lime”, like it was too obvious. When he unwraps the third taffy, he smells it and immediately wrinkles his nose. “Ew. I don’t like the smell of this one.” 

“Hand it over,” Dean says and Cas does. “This one’s creme soda - my favorite! How can you not like creme soda?”

Cas shrugs and digs around the bag considering his next selection and continuing his taste test as Dean puts the car in drive and pulls back out onto the narrow road. Cas is on taffy number who-knows-what before Dean realizes he’s not stopping. 

“Whoa. Slow down there, buddy. Jesus, how many have you inhaled already?”

Cas looks back at him with a sugar-fueled grin. “I like these very much.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Fucking hell, you really were deprived of candy as a child weren’t you?” Cas doesn’t answer him and simply reaches in and selects yet another flavor. “Dude. You’re going to ruin your appetite or make yourself sick and if you get sick in my car, you’re walking home.”

Cas twists the bag closed. “Sorry.” 

“We can have more after an actual meal.” 

Just like that, a memory flashes back of him and Sam when they were little trying to eat all of their Halloween candy in one night, and now suddenly Ellen doesn’t seem as terrible as she did back then when she took their candy away. Maybe she actually had a point. Go figure. 

The realization and memory makes him smile and he catches Cas studying him from the other side of the bench seat.

Dean drives a little faster. 

They eventually get their chowder from the same place by the harbor where Dean bought it before, but this time they don’t stay there to eat it. Instead, Dean has them get back in the car and Cas carefully holds the food while he guides the Impala along the road that follows the water. 

Cas sits up. “This is the road I was walking on when you came back f— when you picked me up, isn’t it?” 

“It is. There’s a turnoff up here and we can drive to the top of the cliffs. It’s called Seabreeze Point and it overlooks the cove and the rest of the bay.” Dean keeps talking as Cas surveys his surroundings. “The views are incredible and there’s benches to sit on and trails to walk, but those are best saved for when there’s enough daylight.”

Dean turns onto the uneven, unpaved road and maneuvers his car up the winding hill and to the top of Seabreeze Point. He drives them to the furthest parking spots, the ones with the best view of the ocean. 

As he pulls up and parks, Cas perks up and inhales. “This place is beautiful.” 

“One of my favorite places on earth. I mean, I haven’t really been a whole lotta places, but I can’t imagine loving anywhere much more than this.”

Cas looks at him then, a small smile warming his face, but the moment, whatever it is, is ruined when Dean’s stomach grumbles. 

They get out of the car and Dean sees that his preferred bench isn’t occupied. Cas grabs the food while Dean retrieves a blanket from the trunk of the car and they make the short hike on a small dirt trail to the seat overlooking the water. It’ll be sunset soon and the temperature has already started to drop but right now, it’s pretty damn gorgeous. The company ain’t so bad, either. 

As Dean lays down the blanket for a cushion and they get themselves settled on the bench, Cas speaks up.

“So... you’re friends with Donna?” he asks with reserved curiosity when he hands Dean his container of chowder. Dean’s pretty sure he’s been sitting on that question since they left the taffy shop. 

“I am. We’ve known each other since we were kids. She used to live down the street from me, actually, but we’ve both moved to new houses since then.”

“Is— was she your… sorry, nevermind.” 

“My girlfriend?” Dean finishes for him. He thinks he knows where this was headed and it’s confirmed when Cas gives him a shy nod. “Nah. She was my first kiss, though. I think we were... twelve? Made out a few times in high school, too, but that was just for fun. We were never a thing.” To Cas’s credit, it’s not the first time someone’s made this assumption.

What Dean doesn’t say is that they used to be best friends and that he misses her. He doesn’t tell Cas that sometimes when he can’t sleep at night, he wonders what his life would be like if it wasn’t for her. And he certainly doesn’t confess that he’s the one who single handedly almost destroyed their friendship a few years ago and that it’s only by the grace of Donna’s forgiveness that they’re friends again. 

“Oh. I see.” 

There’s a hint of disappointment behind Cas’s words. Dean’s afraid to wonder why but amidst his Donna-induced nostalgia, a small pinprick of courage somehow rises to the surface and he seizes it. 

“She’s an excellent wing-woman, though. Helped me land my first boyfriend,” he admits, throwing Cas a risky wink. 

Dean doesn’t miss the way Cas’s face goes beat red or the way he clears his throat a few times as he focuses intently on the food in his hands, picking at the lid of the styrofoam container before he speaks. “So do you just know everyone around here, or what? Seems like you do.”

“There’re a lot that I do and a lot that I don’t, and then there are some that I wish I didn’t.” 

“How do you mean?” Cas asks. 

“It’s the double-edged sword of small town livin’, I guess. It’s great when you need a cup of sugar but not so much when you’re trying to outgrow your mistakes, ya know?” Cas nods and waits for Dean to continue. “Neighbors will pick you up when you scrape your knees but they sure as hell don’t forgive so easily when you do wrong by them, no matter how much time passes.” 

“Are you telling me there are people who  _ don’t  _ like you?”

“Ha. You’d be surprised,” Dean says, the conversation a dangerously sharp reminder of this morning’s events that threatens to tug down at his mood. “But that story’s for another day.” 

“I can’t imagine that,” Cas replies, almost more to himself. 

Dean pretends he doesn’t hear it. 

They fall into an easy silence with the sound of the crashing waves accompanying the melody of the waking crickets. Dean has the fleeting thought that if this were happening with any other person at any other time, he’d be hard pressed not to call it a date.  _ But it’s not a date _ , he reminds himself, and he does his best to focus on the sailboat floating on the horizon instead of the way his heart beats just a little faster sitting so close to Cas. 

He takes a deep breath to steady himself and it’s not until Cas shifts and goes still that he realizes that he sighed out loud. Cas sets his spoon down and secures the lid back on the foam container. If he’s done eating it then it’s the first meal that Cas hasn’t finished in its entirety since they met.

Maybe it’s just his imagination but Dean feels that the mood between them has shifted ever so slightly. The air feels tighter and he finds himself holding his breath, though he’s not sure why. He senses that Cas is going to speak before he does and Jesus, he’s more in tune with Cas than he’s been with anyone else, besides Sam. 

“Thank you for bringing me here.” Cas says quietly, looking out across the water at the setting sun. “I can tell how much you love it and I know this is only my second visit, but I think I’m beginning to love it, too.” 

Dean doesn’t know why those words take his breath away, but they do. There’s a feeling in his chest that soars with the joy of what could-be and yet aches with the pain of what never-will. He doesn’t know how to process whatever it is that’s playing tug-of-war with his heartstrings, so he rubs the back of his neck and nods, collecting his thoughts before he responds. 

“Bagyo will do that to you… make you fall in love when you’re not looking.” 

Cas pulls his eyes away from the ocean and locks his gaze with Dean’s. His eyes shine in the fading light of the sun reflecting off the water and Dean wonders, not for the first time, who cut Cas so deeply. What kind of soleless monster stole the light from his eyes and the smile from his lips? Dean’s all too familiar with what it’s like to feel broken and he knows without a shadow of a doubt that someone somewhere hurt him. It makes Dean feel a rage deep inside his bones trying to understand it.

But watching Cas come back to himself is like watching a wave build itself up, deceptively small and insignificant at first, but swelling to great heights with the ferocious power beneath the surface. It's beautiful. 

“This might be the easiest I’ve breathed in months… maybe ever.” Cas continues to hold his gaze for a moment then looks down as if embarrassed. “Sorry, you probably didn’t need to hear that.”

“It’s okay, Cas. Truth is, me too.” 

“Really?” 

“MmmHmm.” Dean closes his eyes and tilts his face to the west, savoring the last of the sun’s warmth as it caresses his cheeks. He feels Cas shift next to him again. “It’s why I didn’t mind coming out here tonight. Figured we could both use a little bay magic, and what did I tell ya - good for the soul, right?” 

They watch together as the sun finally dips below the horizon line and her light is lost to the edges of the sea. Dean’s never felt so peaceful just  _ existing  _ before. 

“Dean? May I ask you something?” 

“You just did.” he teases. 

“ _ Deeaan _ ,” Cas scolds in the politely grumpy tone that he uses whenever he’s fed up with Dean’s shit but is too nice to say anything more controversial. 

“You can ask me anything, Cas. Always.” 

“What happened to your parents?” 

Well… the serenity was nice while it lasted. 


	6. Chapter 6

There are about a thousand butterflies relentlessly beating their wings against Castiel's rib cage while he tries desperately to keep them contained. His palms are sweaty and he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. 

This entire day has had so many ups and downs that his head is still spinning trying to keep up, and he’s pretty sure it's not on straight anymore. How did he go from the sanctuary of a piano room to sitting on a bench overlooking the Pacific after everything in between? Now he’s watching the most perfect sunset with someone who is probably the most perfect human? None of this makes any sense. 

Yet here he is -  _ again _ . Dean picking up the pieces of his fuck ups -  _ again _ . And Castiel letting him -  _ still _ . 

And on top of it all, as if Castiel doesn’t already have enough to deal with, Dean drops the one piece of information that threatens to bring his insignificant little world crashing down. The one personal detail that Castiel has been holding at arm’s length, afraid to know the answer for fear of what the truth might do to him… Dean’s had a  _ boyfriend _ . 

What’s he supposed to do with that information? Castiel doesn’t need it. He wants to wrap it up and throw it as hard as he can off the cliff in front of him and into the ocean. He wants the sea to swallow it up so he can go back to a few minutes ago when his life was less complicated because  _ fuck _ .

_ Dean Winchester is not straight.  _

Castiel has wondered. He’s guessed. He’s even dared to hope a few times, despite himself. But now that he has this knowledge, it’s too much. The air feels too thick and Dean is sitting far too close. His hands are shaking. Why are his hands shaking? Maybe it’s the sugar rush? It’s gotta be the sugar. He’s had about a thousand pieces of that saltwater taffy which, by the way, is delicious. He’s definitely going to have more of it later. 

Ok.  _ Relax _ . He needs to calm down, focus on something else. 

Crickets begin to chirp all around them as Castiel gazes out at the vast expanse of sea and shore, and as he times his breaths with the rhythm of the waves, he finds that it steadies him. When Dean sighs audibly beside him, Castiel wonders what he’s thinking at this moment. Whatever it is it’s probably nowhere near what’s going through his own head right now, which is how, in another life, maybe this would be a real date. In another universe, maybe Dean would take his hand and keep it warm and they would share stories and make each other laugh. In some other plane of existence, maybe Dean would want someone like Castiel and they could be happy. 

No longer hungry, he closes the lid on his chowder and shifts a little. There are so many things he wants to say right now, most of which he either can’t or he shouldn’t. Instead, he takes the safest course of action - anything to break up the dark and lonely road his mind is wandering down. 

“Thank you for bringing me here.” Castiel hopes his sincerity is casual enough that Dean doesn’t suspect the chaos happening inside his head. He keeps his eyes focused on the horizon, still finding it difficult to look at Dean. “I can tell how much you love it and I know this is only my second visit, but I think I’m beginning to love it, too.” 

He means what he says, but what he doesn’t say is that he thinks he loves the companionship the most. Being here with Dean somehow makes the sunset reflect off the water with more sparkle and the colors painted across the sky shine with more luster. 

“Bagyo will do that to you… make you fall in love when you’re not looking.” 

The butterflies in Castiel’s chest flurry with resurgence. 

There’s something in Dean’s voice that draws Castiel’s eyes back to him. He can’t help Dean’s magnetic pull, he’s tried to resist it but tonight, he feels his defenses weakening. 

Their gazes lock and everything slows. The world seems simpler in this moment, lighter and less chaotic. It suddenly dawns on him that, for the first time in probably years, he hasn’t spent his day grappling with the anxiety of constantly looking over his shoulder. Sure, Michael and his mother are probably still looking for him, so of course there’s that, but he finally feels like he’s got his footing. 

“This might be the easiest I’ve breathed in months… maybe ever,” he says without meaning to. Instantly embarrassed of oversharing, he looks to the ground. “Sorry, you probably didn’t need to hear that.”

“It’s okay, Cas. Truth is, me too.” Dean’s words sound genuine, if not a little relieved. 

“Really?”

“MmmHmm.” 

He chances a glance back at Dean, but Dean’s eyes are now closed and he’s got his chin tilted towards the sun. He looks beautiful in the fading light, his features sharp and accentuated by the shadows cast against his glowing skin. His freckles are as apparent as ever and Castiel wants to count every single one of them.

“It’s why I didn’t mind coming out here tonight. Figured we could both use a little bay magic, and what did I tell ya - good for the soul, right?” 

Castiel smiles because of course Dean was right. They fall back into a peaceful silence as they watch the ocean swallow the last light of day. 

When the sun is gone Castiel doesn’t want to move, he wants to keep them here, afraid that if they walk away from this bench all the good feelings will be left behind. He’s not ready for that just yet. 

“Dean? May I ask you something?” 

“You just did,” he smirks. 

“ _ Deeaan _ .” 

Dean huffs a laugh but isn’t deterred. “You can ask me anything, Cas. Always.” 

“What happened to your parents?” 

Of all the questions Castiel can ask, he doesn’t know why he goes for this one. It’s risky and probably none of his business but his chest aches with how much he wants to get to know Dean, and not just his work schedule or the way he likes his steak or his favorite movie. No, Castiel feels greedy and wants more. He wants to know what Dean was like as a child, his fears and his passions, his favorite memories. Most of all, he wants to learn how Dean became the man he is today, and that starts with his parents, doesn’t it? 

Dean goes still at the question and Castiel holds his breath. Seconds tick by. He’s about to take it back, about to apologize for asking too personal a question, but Dean surprises him and speaks first. 

“I suppose it’s a little weird, huh? Talking about Bobby and Ellen as my parents but never actually mentioning my real ones? I guess I’m just so used to everyone around me knowing the story already that I forget there’s one to tell.”

“Dean, you don’t have t—” 

“Nah, it’s fine.” He takes a deep breath before he continues and Castiel has no idea what kind of floodgate he might’ve just opened, so he lets him take his time. “My uh… my Mom died when I was six years old and Sam was two. Cancer. It was quick. Ellen and my Mom were best friends, went to college together and all that. Ellen and Bobby were both in Kansas for the funeral.”

“Kansas?” 

“Oh right. Shit. I keep forgetting. Yeah, I was born in Kansas. My Mom and Dad were college sweethearts at Kansas State and settled down to make their life there. Ellen moved to California after their graduation but they always stayed in touch.” 

“I’ve seen the Kansas State pennant in Ellen’s office at the bar.” Cas has only been inside her private office a couple of times but he knows the pennant is prominently displayed on her wall, though he’s never asked about it. 

Dean nods slowly. “I remember a bunch of KSU stuff all around our house, but Dad took it all down after Mom was gone. Her death messed him up and he was never the same after that.” He pauses again and looks out at the water, the memories obviously painful. “A few months after the funeral, Ellen came back and stayed with us for a while. I think my Dad was really going through it, so she tried to help. Even tried talking him into moving to California. They got in a big fight about it one night and she left the next day. I didn’t see her again until a year later.”

After another pause, Castiel delicately coaxes him on. “What happened a year later?”

“Sammy and I woke up one morning to police officers in our living room. Ellen was there with our neighbor, Missouri. She’d taken a redeye to get to us before we woke up. Ellen’s the one who sat us down and told us Dad had died. Wrapped his damn car around a tree after a night of drinking.”

“Dean. I’m so sor—” 

“Don’t. Please don’t say it, Cas. I’ve heard those words enough about my parents to last me ten lifetimes.”

His reaction isn’t cruel, it’s just sad and tired. Dean’s hands wring together and Castiel yearns to take them in his own and still them, but he keeps to himself. 

“So what happened next?”

Dean leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees then drops his head down to stare at the dirt beneath his feet. “Ellen stayed to arrange the funeral and Bobby flew out to help. They stayed with us the whole time. Then Sammy and I were told that we were moving to California with them. They had gotten custody of us and were taking us in.” 

“Wait. Together? Were Ellen and Bobby married?” Castiel has known from the start that there were some close family connections there, but he’s never quite understood the dynamics of it.

“Never married, no, but they were together at the time and they stayed together for a few years after, but ultimately it didn’t work out. Pretty sure adding two young brats to the mix really put a damper on things for ‘em.” He shakes his head and huffs, as if it’s both sad and funny. “Anyway, after they split Ellen ended up adopting us officially, but Bobby was never not around. They raised us together and have always stayed close friends.” Still resting on his elbows, Dean tilts his head to the side and looks at Castiel, like he’s waiting for a judgment to be made. “So there you have it. That’s the story.”

“I— Dean, that was—” Castiel doesn’t have the words. He doesn’t know the appropriate way to respond and although he has about ten thousand more questions he’d like to ask, he also knows that Dean has shared far more than Castiel deserves, and he doesn’t want to take advantage. “Thank you,” he says instead. 

“For what?” 

“For sharing that with me. It’s quite an incredible history.” 

Dean sits up to lean back against the bench, rubbing at the back of his neck. Castiel’s eyes track the movement. He wishes he could feel what it’s like to run his fingers through Dean’s hair. It looks soft.

“Yeah, I haven’t talked about that part of my past in... I can’t remember how long. Everyone who knows me pretty much knows the gist of it. And if they don’t, well then they probably don’t matter. So, now you know.” 

A rush of warmth heats Castiel’s cheeks against the dropping temperature and he has to look away. 

Dean is an enigma. He’s so easily giving of himself and yet he keeps parts of himself hidden away. He’s joyous and friendly with a welcoming heart, but there’s a melancholy to him as well. Like this morning, when he left for an appointment in a suit and tie. He didn’t tell Castiel where he was going and hasn’t said anything since, and yet here he is, opening up and sharing a part of himself that Castiel was beginning to think would never be revealed. 

He’ll take what he can get but if Dean has taught him anything tonight, it’s that Castiel wants more. So much more. When it comes to Dean, he feels selfish and greedy in a way that he’s never experienced before. 

“You’re very lucky,” he says without thinking. 

“Lucky? How so?” Dean looks over and Castiel can feel his eyes on him. 

He swallows and focuses on the edge of the world where the sky meets the sea as they blend together into the darkness. 

“You may have lost your parents but you also gained two new ones. You’re surrounded by people who love you, and who have clearly done a good job raising you into the man you are now. It might be a funny way of putting it, but yeah, I’d call that pretty lucky.” 

The silence that follows pounds in Castiel’s ears. He doesn’t have the courage to look over and meet Dean’s eyes, too afraid that perhaps he’s crossed a line (again), so he focuses harder on the horizon. His fingers grip the edge of the bench and with a clenched jaw, Castiel fights back the stinging in his eyes, overcome with emotion he wasn’t expecting.

Without warning, there’s a hand near his face and fingers brush the side of his temple. Castiel jerks away as a flare of fear surges down his spine and he flinches against the blow that he expects to follow. Heart racing, he looks to his side with the last scrap of self preservation he’s got and locks eyes with a very startled Dean.

Dean’s hands are in the air in surrender and he’s leaning back. “Whoa. You okay? Fuck, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean— I was just—” 

“No no. I’m sorry. You startled me.” Castiel clears his throat, desperate to explain away what the hell just happened. “Last time… last  _ couple _ times I’ve had a hand near my face, it uh… it didn’t end so well. I guess I’m still a little jumpy over it.” 

Embarrassment begins to replace the adrenalin and Castiel wants to climb down the side of this cliff and bury his face in the sand below. 

“Jesus, Cas. I— you had some flour in your hair and I was just trying to get it off and I didn’t fucking think about that and I… fuck, I’m sorry.” 

In the sudden commotion, they’ve managed to scoot themselves to the opposite ends of the bench and as his mind slows down, Castiel feels the loss; the distance between them too far and the warmth gone. The air has shifted and Castiel shivers. 

“What do you say we head back, huh?” Dean stands and brushes off the imaginary dust on his jeans. He won’t make eye contact as he picks up their trash and heads back to the car. 

Castiel scoops up the blanket they had been sitting on and hurries after him, stopping only to take one quick glance back at the empty bench. 

As they make their way back to the two-lane highway, Dean doesn’t say a word. Castiel feels miserable and the shame of his own weakness rests on his shoulders like a physical burden. He hates that he turned Dean’s mood sour just because he couldn’t control his own stupid impulse well enough not to flinch and recoil. No wonder Michael has always called him fragile.

The only thing he regrets as much as Dean losing his smile is losing the opportunity to know what it feels like to have Dean’s hand on his face. It doesn’t matter that the gesture was only intended to brush some flour from his hair, Castiel knows that the touch would’ve been the most affectionate thing he’s felt since— well… it doesn’t matter now. 

Castiel needs to make this right and needs to get Dean’s smile back, so he does the only thing that comes to mind and grabs the bag of taffy. 

Thankfully, by the time they’re pulling into Dean’s driveway the bag of taffy is halfway gone and Castiel has learned, much to Dean’s playful disgust, that he actually loves the banana flavor. They also both despise black licorice and Castiel discovers that fun fact when he nearly gags on it. 

But it doesn’t matter because Dean isn’t just smiling again, he’s laughing. 

***

Saturday morning dawns and Castiel is pacing the living room, his blankets folded neatly at the edge of the couch with his pillow resting on top. 

No.  _ Dean’s  _ pillow and blankets. Not _ his. _

Ever since their outing on Thursday he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about Dean; about how difficult life probably was for him as a child, about what it must be like at their family dinners, about how his hair is extra floofy just after he gets out of the shower, and about what other places on Dean’s body he might be able to find freckles…

The point is, he’s gotten comfortable in Dean’s space, too comfortable, which is precisely why it’s time to leave and why he’s waiting for Dean to wake up, so he can tell him. Castiel needs to get out of here before he does something reckless or before it gets too difficult to walk away.

He’s already dangerously close to both.

Dean’s bedroom door finally creaks open and he steps out, sleep mussed and groggy. 

“Hello, Dean.”

“Mornin’ sunshine,” he says through squinted eyes, still trying to adjust to the morning light. “You’re up early.” 

“Yes, I know. Dean, I—” 

Dean shushes him with a raised hand. “Cas, no offense but I had a really bad night’s sleep last night. I need a shower and coffee before conversation. You done in there?” he asks, tilting his head towards the bathroom. 

Castiel nods and Dean disappears behind the door. 

Coffee. Of course. He should’ve thought about that. If roles were reversed, Dean would’ve had coffee and breakfast ready before Castiel even woke up. He needs to do better, to  _ be  _ better, so Castiel gets to making a pot of coffee. He tosses a bagel into the toaster as well and though he may still be a little skittish from Thursday’s kitchen disaster, he can sure as hell make Dean a bagel with some cream cheese and jam.

Just as Dean steps out of the shower, dressed again in lounge pants and a t-shirt and running a towel through his hair, Castiel is preparing two cups of coffee. 

Dean looks up. “Did you make coffee? Hell yes. Gimme.” He tosses the towel onto his shoulder and Castiel hands him one of the mugs. 

“I made you a bagel, too.” 

“Fucking lifesaver,” Dean says behind a groan of appreciation.

Castiel offers him the small plate and when he accepts it, Castiel takes the towel from Dean’s shoulder and tosses it into the washing machine. He takes his time getting a load of laundry started while Dean sits down on the couch checking his phone and enjoying his breakfast. 

When Dean’s done eating, Castiel takes the plate to the sink.

“What’s with the five-star service this morning, Cas? You know this isn’t The Roadhouse, right? You’re not on the clock.” 

This is it. If Castiel doesn’t take this opportunity to tell Dean he’s leaving, he’s not sure how or when he’ll strike up enough courage to do it again. This is stupid. Why is he so nervous? 

He retrieves an envelope from his backpack that’s sitting near the couch.

“Here,” he says, willing his hands to remain steady. 

“What’s this?”

“It’s what I owe you. I don’t have the receipts and couldn’t keep an entirely accurate tally, but I believe inside that envelope is a fair estimate of the extra expenses you’ve accrued while I’ve been staying here. I’ve factored in food and groceries, our trip to the department store, and some extra for amenities and miscellaneous expenses.” 

Dean opens the envelope and thumbs at the cash stacked neatly inside. He doesn’t count it, but he looks up from the couch in confusion. 

“Cas, what the hell?” 

“If you believe it to be short or that I’ve miscalculated, it’s not intentional, I swear. I can add some more or I can send you the rest once I get to Los Angeles, if you’ll trust me to do so.”

“If I tru—,” Dean stops himself short and runs a hand through his still wet hair. He makes one pass over his scalp slowly at first, and then follows it up with several aggressive swipes back and forth, spraying tiny droplets of water in every direction. “First of all, this has to be most of what you’ve made the entire time you’ve been here.” He shakes the cash like it’s something offensive.

“Ellen has been compensating me fairly for my work and has been kind enough to pay me in cash. Benny and Ash also share their tips. They say I earned them. But to address your concern, I also have enough for a train ticket and a week’s worth of food for when I get to LA, if I’m careful.”

“You can’t possibly be calculating that right, but it doesn’t matter anyway because I’m not taking your money.” He holds the envelope out in a forceful gesture but Castiel doesn’t take it from him. 

“No, Dean. That’s yours. You’ve done more for me than I had any right to accept and I appreciate your kindness more than you will ever know, but that money is yours.” 

“And if I take it? Then what?”

“Then I’ll have enough to get me to LA, just like I said. The money I already had with me will be enough to cover my rent somewhere for a month while I look for a job.” 

“So you just have it all figured out then, don’t you? When are you leaving?” 

Dean sounds… angry. Castiel doesn’t understand. 

“I used the computers in the library yesterday and found a bus that leaves at five in the morning on Tuesday. I realize that’s quite early but it’s a long trip and will require two buses in addition to the train. Then I’ll need time to look for a place to stay. I’ve already informed Ellen of my departure.”

“Jesus Christ, Cas.” Dean stands up and aggressively tosses the envelope onto the coffee table, turning sharply to put the couch between them. 

“I’m… have I done something to upset you?” Castiel squirms against the uncomfortable dip of his heart. 

Is Dean mad about the money? Castiel was sure he was more than fair but maybe Dean disagrees? Or maybe Dean feels obligated to drive him to the bus station so early in the morning? Though he had hoped that Dean would want to say goodbye, it’s not necessary. Castiel can just walk there.

Dean marches back and forth a few steps. “No. I’m fine. I just need to get to work.”

“But you don’t have to be there for another hour and a half.” 

“Yeah, well. Bobby needs me. I gotta get changed.” Dean makes his way towards his bedroom, stopping briefly in the doorway. “Thanks for breakfast.” 

The door shuts with a purposeful thud, coffee mug left forgotten on the table. 

Dean emerges fifteen minutes later dressed for a day at the shop and Castiel notices that he makes himself a lunch before he leaves, which means he won’t be coming back to the house to eat. He walks out the front door with barely so much as a goodbye.

After pacing the apartment, finishing the laundry, and refolding the blankets at least three times, Castiel still feels unsettled. He can’t specifically tell if he’s truly made Dean upset or if he’s perhaps just reading too much into it. Either way, he feels incredibly anxious and unsettled.

In the end, Castiel decides to take it - whatever  _ it  _ is - and work it out on a set of black and white keys. He gets dressed for his shift later tonight, grabs his coat, his house key, and heads for the library. 

Several hours and two sore wrists later he’s at The Roadhouse and it’s jam packed. 

With an abnormal surge of warm weather, the locals are taking full advantage. Benny calls it the _springtime tease_ and says it happens every year - the weather gets unusually warm for a weekend or two around March and the town goes crazy before the temperature inevitably drops again. 

Castiel’s shift passes quickly but he feels dead on his feet by the time Benny announces last-call. He’s learned enough aspects of the job by now that on nights like tonight, there’s no training, just working. Castiel can even mix and serve some of the more basic drinks, though now that everyone knows he’s leaving, there’s really no need to do anything else but pull his weight.

The bar’s patrons trickle out, some barely able to stand and others protesting that the night is still too young. Two girls tumble out onto the sidewalk holding onto each other, their laughter filling the warm night air. Castiel smiles at them but his amusement turns solemn when their hands intertwine and they take off down the street, the doors closing behind them as one leans in to whisper into the other’s ear.

Between the piano and the crowded bar, Castiel has mostly been able to keep his thoughts clear of Dean but seeing those women brings it all rushing back, right along with the longing and regret he so often feels.

Will it ever be his turn? Will he ever be able to feel young and carefree and in love? He went to college too early, studied too hard, and took things too seriously. And when he finally let himself have something he wanted, when he finally allowed himself a chance to be happy, it was all taken away. Worse - he found it was never even his to begin with. Castiel sees those women and he sees everything he’s never had and everything he wants. 

If he wasn’t leaving in a few days, maybe De— 

“What did that table ever do to you?”

Castiel looks up to see Benny watching him, an eyebrow cocked in concern. He realizes that he’s been aggressively scrubbing the same spot over and over, his knuckles white from gripping the rag in his hand.

He straightens. “Sorry. Guess I got distracted. What’s next?” 

Benny seems like he wants to comment further but he refrains. “I gotta get started on closing out the tills and then I need to write up this report for Ellen. You mind handling the wipe down behind the counter and restocking all the glasses?” 

“Sure thing.” Castiel gets back to work, thankful for the distraction. 

A short time later, he and Benny are ready to lock up and head home. 

“Hey, Steve, I left something in my locker that I have to grab. Will you put this report in Ellen’s office and I’ll meet you at the front door?” Benny hands him a folder stuffed with papers and drops the keys to the office on top.

Castiel walks down the hall and climbs the stairs that lead to Ellen’s office, the one he’s only entered a small handful of times. The purple KSU pennant still hangs on the wall but with a whole new meaning now, at least as far as Castiel is concerned. He takes the report and places it on the desk but as he does so, he notices the bookkeeping ledger sitting open, partially hidden by a few other documents. 

Curiosity gets the better of him and he moves aside the other paperwork to take a look. He shouldn’t, he knows he shouldn’t, but it’s practically second nature. It’s been awhile since he’s done any kind of accounting work and numbers just sort of speak to him. He's really looking at the ledger as a finance professional, not an employee.

He scans it over and hasn’t seen anyone do bookkeeping by hand like this in years. It’s archaic in terms of financial proficiency and the amount of statistical reporting and analysis she’s missing by not digitizing these records is tremendous. Not to mention the fact that the numbers don’t seem to add up. If they’re right, then— 

A throat clears and Castiel jumps, his heart leaping into his throat. A looming figure stands in the doorway. 

“Ellen.” Castiel croaks, for lack of anything better to say. 

“May I ask what you’re doing?” 

Castiel backs away from the desk and stutters his response. “I’m— I was— Benny asked me to put this report on your desk and—” 

“Enough.” She says, stern and commanding. “I think it’s time for you to go home, Steve. Benny’s waiting up front. Please lock the doors behind you.”

Ellen holds her hand out and Castiel places her office keys gently into her palm as he slinks past her and through the doorway, his heart still racing and his face flushed with shame. 

“Should we wait for you?” he dares to ask.

“No. I can’t sleep. It’s why I came back tonight, to try and get some work done. You may go.” 

Her words are clipped and they sting with the venom of abashed reprimand. Castiel doesn’t make another peep and escapes to find Benny waiting for him downstairs.

“Everything alright?”

“Does she always show up in the middle of the night?” Castiel is both curious and worried. 

“Yeah. Sometimes. But there’s no use tryin’ to talk her outta it. Trust me when I say we’ve all tried and we’ve all failed. Miserably. When she gets like this, it’s better to just let her be.” Castiel doesn’t like it. “Come on, brother. It’s been a long night. Let’s get outta here.” 

Benny offers him a ride home but Castiel declines. The fresh air is nice after spending the whole night breathing fumes of liquor, grease, and the occasional frat boy who went overboard with his cheap cologne. Besides, maybe the walk will help him clear his head from the embarrassment that’s trying to swallow him whole. Then again… there’s still Dean to worry about. He really did a number today, didn’t he? At least he has a few blocks worth of peace as he leaves the frying pan and heads straight for the fire. 

Guess it’s a good thing he’s leaving in two days.

The walk is over far too quickly and Castiel finds himself staring at the front door, not wanting to face whatever is waiting for him on the other side. Eventually mustering the courage, he stands up straighter and turns the key. 

The house is dark, save for a small light left on in the kitchen above the stove. Closing the door quietly behind him, Castiel surveys the room. Dean’s door is closed and the light is off but there’s a note resting on the pillow atop the neat pile of blankets at the edge of the couch.

_ Chinese food in the fridge if you’re hungry. _

That’s it. No greeting. No sign off. 

Castiel’s stomach twists. 

He hears quiet rustling coming from Dean’s room which means he’s home and possibly awake, and that stings more than he wants to admit to himself. Dean’s never  _ not _ waited up for Castiel before. Of course, he’s certainly never had an obligation to wait up, or to leave friendly notes, or to make sure Cas always has something to eat, but it’s just that he always  _ has _ done those things. Without fail. 

Everything about today feels off. 

He goes to the bathroom to splash water on his face and change into his pajamas, too tired to bother with a shower. He slips Dean’s freshly washed ACDC shirt on over his head and it’s soft against his skin. Of all the inanimate things he’s going to have to leave behind, Castiel thinks he’ll miss this shirt the most.

He pours himself a glass of water but he’s not hungry, so he doesn’t touch the food. He lays out the blankets and settles onto the couch, his body exhausted but his mind racing - sleep won’t come easy tonight. 

Aside from everything else, he also can’t stop thinking about what he saw in Ellen’s ledger. It didn’t make sense. Frustrated with not having answers and no way to solve them, Castiel closes his eyes… only to be haunted by yet another set of worries. The cycle never ends, does it? 

This time on Monday he’ll be asleep for the last time in Dean’s home. He knows it’s for the best and that it’s time for him to move on and to take care of himself, yet his heart clenches anyway at the thought of facing the next two days. 

The cold, painful reality is, Castiel has allowed himself to indulge in Dean’s kindness for far too long already. It’s been so easy to let Dean talk him into staying in San Seton but no matter how sweet Dean’s smile or how comforting his words, it’s time to embrace whatever future lies ahead. He is not Dean’s responsibility, not his obligation, and certainly not his concern. He needs to leave now before everything gets worse with Dean, with Ellen, and with his own heart. 

Castiel ignores the tears stinging the back of his eyes. 

He doesn’t fall asleep for several more hours. 

*** 

“You look like shit.” Dean says, standing in front of him at way-too-early-o’clock in the morning, and looking far too  _ awake  _ after having just showered.

Castiel has been sitting upright on the couch for the last five minutes, unable to move, hardly able to open his eyes, and stuck in a daze. The truth is, he doesn’t even know what time it actually is. Last night was the worst night of sleep he’s had since staying with Dean and just breathing feels like a struggle.

All he can manage is a grunt and a blink in response to Dean’s comment. 

“Right. I’ll go start the coffee.”

Thank heaven for Dean Winchester.

Castiel drags himself to the bathroom. It’s still warm from Dean’s shower and he rubs his hand over the mirror, wiping away some of the steam, revealing his distorted reflection. He looks exhausted and his eyes are slightly bloodshot but at least his scruff is under control and his black eye is fully healed. He should be able to get a job more easily with a clean-cut appearance, which reminds him, he should try to get a haircut before he leaves.

He steps into the shower and breathes a sigh of relief that Dean left him some hot water. He places his palms against the shower’s wall and closes his eyes while the spray massages his back, the water sluicing down between his shoulder blades and washing over him like the slide of a comforting hand. 

The peace he finds under the water’s protection is brief, all of last night’s worries rushing back to him. His chest tightens knowing that tomorrow will be his last day in San Seton, but that’s almost a quiet ache compared to the nagging feeling that won’t stop tugging at his mind with every conscious moment since last night - the one that tells him something is wrong at The Roadhouse. 

Reluctant to leave the bathroom, Castiel takes his time finishing his shower, brushing his teeth, and getting dressed. When he opens the door, the sweet smell of coffee greets him and it almost makes facing the day worth it. Almost. 

“Oh good. You’re alive. I was beginning to wonder.” Dean hands him a cup, prepared just the way he likes it. Castiel graciously accepts it and hums his appreciation around the first glorious sip. “So I hate to rush you but Ellen texted me. She wants us at The Roadhouse in twenty.” 

“Did she say what for?” he asks. Ellen’s Sunday breakfast meetings are usually just for Benny and Ash and occasionally a few of her seasoned employees, not for Castiel… or Dean, usually. 

His stomach turns at the thought of why she might want him there.  _ Shit _ .

“No. Just told me to make sure that your ass is there. I invited myself for the food.” Dean grins and waggles his eyebrows. It’s charming and adorable and nothing like how it was yesterday, and  _ damn  _ is Castiel going to miss him. 

“We better get going then. Even I know better than to keep her waiting.” 

“At least you learn quick, and let me guess; it’s written on that training manual that you’ve been carrying around, isn’t it?” 

“Front page. Bolded, underlined, and highlighted with an excessive amount of exclamation marks,” Castiel confirms. 

Dean’s responding laughter fills the living room. It’s light and airy and the sound of it makes Castiel feel alive.

He drinks as much of the coffee as he can manage before they make their way down the street and to The Roadhouse. When they get there, the front door is propped slightly ajar and when he enters, Castiel thinks he must be late because Benny, Ash, and Ellen are all inside, along with Bobby.

“Hey! Steve’s finally here!” Benny says, a smile on his face. 

“‘Bout time. I had to wake up early for this,” Ash gripes, but he laughs when Benny gives him a playful shove. 

Castiel is confused and looks back at Dean, who doesn’t seem confused in the slightest. In fact, he’s got a big grin on his face. 

“Wha— what’s going on? What did I miss?” 

“Nothin’ sweetie.” Ellen steps forward with a warm, welcoming smile. It’s the type of smile she generally saves for Dean, not her employees. “Just a little somethin’ before your last shift here, and to wish you luck on your next endeavor.” 

“I… I don’t understand?” 

Castiel’s heart is racing and it makes his hands tremble slightly. Nothing makes sense. This can’t be right. He thought for sure Dean was mad at him. And Ellen? He would have bet all his Roadhouse earnings that she was ready to grab him by the ear and give him a piece of her mind, and yet he looks around and sees that a couple of tables have been pushed together and there’s a copious breakfast spread set out - muffins, fruit, cinnamon rolls, and two plates stacked high with bacon. There’s even champagne and orange juice for mimosas. What did he do to deserve any of this?

“It’s just breakfast, darlin’,” she explains, but when Castiel doesn’t respond right away because his words are lodged somewhere in his throat, she adds, “Besides, it was Dean’s idea.” 

Castiel’s heart stops outright. He looks over at Dean standing beside him. Dean shrugs with air of casual innocence. “What? Just thought it might be nice is all.” 

Their eyes lock and Castiel’s world stands still as he searches the pair of jade green eyes he’s come to enjoy so very much. 

He’s lived - no, he’s  _ visited _ \- this town for all of a handful of weeks. For fuck’s sake, he sleeps on Dean’s couch and is employed by his Mom. He’s not  _ special _ . They shouldn’t be celebrating him, thanking him, or wishing him luck or whatever the hell this is. His own family barely did as much for his birthdays growing up. 

Castiel’s eyes burn and his throat constricts. The emotions building behind his chest threaten to burst like an overinflated balloon, but he has no idea what form those emotions are going to take. Will they manifest into a hug? Tears? A sprint to the bathroom? Something else?

His body is vibrating and just when he feels like he can’t contain himself for another second, Bobby clears his throat, loud and purposeful. The interruption is such that it causes him to deflate just enough to take a breath and keep himself in check. 

His eyes are still locked on Dean’s when Dean clears his own throat and takes a step back. “Well that bacon ain’t gonna eat itself. Who’s hungry?” 

The tension in the room dissipates as they all gather plates of food and enjoy one another’s company while they eat. Ellen ends up talking a little business with Benny and Ash, and Bobby leaves early to take a plate of food to the Sheriff's station for Jody before he heads to the shop. 

They mingle and ask Castiel what his plans are for Los Angeles but he keeps his answers vague, though it’s not like he has any details figured out anyway. Ash gives him some tips for his travels and Ellen tells him not to sign a long-term lease on an apartment until he’s sure he likes the neighborhood. He enjoys the conversations and a piece of him regrets that he didn’t try harder to have more personal interactions while he’s been here.

He quickly reminds himself that there’s a reason for that. 

After about an hour, when everything’s been cleaned up and Castiel is so full that he considers unbuttoning his jeans, he finds himself sitting alone at a booth with Dean, reminiscent of the very first time Dean brought them here for Sunday breakfast not that long ago. 

“I can’t believe you did this for me, Dean. But isn’t it a little backwards? I feel like I should be the one throwing you a party for all you’ve done. I don’t deserve this.” 

“I’d hardly call this a party, Cas.” 

“I would.” Dean looks at him like he’s kidding. “Really. No one’s ever been so thoughtful of me before.”

“That can’t possibly be true,” Dean scoffs, as though Castiel has made a lame attempt at a joke, though there’s a hint of concern there, too.

He’s saved from having to argue the truth of the matter when Benny and Ash approach the table to say they’re leaving. Castiel will see them both tonight, so they exchange quick goodbyes before they exit, Benny promising Dean that they’ll hang out together soon.

As he’s gotten used to doing, Castiel ignores the spike of jealousy that flares in his gut. 

After they’re gone Ellen also takes her leave, kissing Dean on the cheek and giving Castiel a pat on the shoulder before retreating down the short hallway to the left of the bar. The hallway leads to the restrooms, a side entrance to the kitchen, and at the back, a set of stairs that then lead up to Ellen’s office. Castiel stares after her, his knee bouncing under the table. He keeps trying to put it out of his mind, but Castiel itches to take a look at her books again. 

His thoughts are interrupted when Dean speaks up. 

“So I was thinking, if you want, we can make one more visit to Bagyo Bay before you go. Get you stocked up on some taffy for your big trip. Whaddya say?” 

Dean’s eyes look hopeful but there’s an underlying sadness in them that wasn’t there before. Castiel has studied that freckled face too many times for him not to notice the difference - Dean is smiling, but the expression doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and for Dean, it’s always in the eyes. 

“Yes. I’d like that.” Castiel says carefully. 

“Awesome. So you wanna go now? I figure we can spend the day down there and I’ll have you back for your shift tonight. I can show y—”

“Actually—” Castiel interrupts, desperately wanting to hear the rest of that sentence but still too distracted to let himself. “—I um… I need to speak with Ellen. It’s important. What do you think about tomorrow? After you’re done with work?”

“Oh uh, yeah. Sure. That’s fine too.” Dean rubs the back of his neck as if he’s embarrassed and he won’t look Castiel in the eyes. 

Castiel longs to reach across the booth and take Dean’s hand, to thank him for his immeasurable kindness and assure him that he very much wants to spend the day with him, but he doesn’t do either of those things. How would he even begin to explain to Dean that the reason he needs to postpone the offer is because he was caught snooping in Ellen’s office last night and that he might’ve stumbled onto something he shouldn’t have? 

So he stays quiet. 

“Guess I better go then. I’ll see you later, Cas.” Dean stands up and leaves abruptly. 

Castiel watches him go, unable to think of a single thing to say to ease the awkwardness before Dean is out the door. He only gives himself a few minutes pause before he locks the front door behind Dean and takes their mimosa glasses to the sink in the kitchen. Then, with his heart beating rapidly against his chest, he ascends the stairs to Ellen’s office. 

He knocks. 

“Come in!” Ellen calls from the other side of the door and Castiel enters. She looks up at him and as soon as she recognizes it’s him, her face falls slightly. “I thought you’d be heading out with Dean,” she comments, suddenly lacking the pleasantry she exuded downstairs all morning. The change in her demeanor makes his insides twist. 

“Dean just left, but I uh… I was wondering if you have a minute?”

She slowly takes off her reading glasses and places them gently down on top of her desk before clasping her hands together and looking up to give Castiel her full attention. “What can I do for you?”

Castiel opens and closes his fists nervously, searching for the right words to say. “It’s about your ledger.” Ellen leans back in her chair and sighs, like she’s disappointed but not surprised. He goes on; “I know this isn’t my place and I swear I wasn’t trying to snoop, but the book was open on your desk and I saw it and I—”

“Stop.” She holds up her hand to silence him. After a beat, she rubs her forehead. “You have a background in finance if I remember correctly, don’t you?”

“I do. It’s been my entire career up until very recently.” 

Ellen shakes her head. “I’ve known from the start that you’re a whole lot smarter than you let on.”

Castiel swallows and takes a steadying breath. 

“Ellen? You’re about to lose The Roadhouse, aren't you?”


	7. Chapter 7

Dean feels embarrassment pulsate throughout his body. His cheeks grow warm as the humiliation evolves into anger. He needs to get out of here. 

“Guess I better go then. I’ll see you later, Cas.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before he’s out the door and all but running towards the house, putting as much distance between him and The Roadhouse as quickly as possible. In the time that it takes him to get home, change into a pair of ripped jeans and an old t-shirt, and make his way to the back of the shop to his truck, he’s worked himself up into a vibrating bundle of frustration.

_ What was he thinking? _ He’s known from the start Cas was always going to leave and yet he let his stupid self get attached. He befriended Cas, hung out with him like they were old buddies, got used to the idea of a roommate, talked him into staying longer… and now he’s gone and set up a goddamn farewell breakfast and for what? Was he really hoping that Cas would change his mind and decide to stay? 

_ Ohmygod _ . He really thought Cas would want to stay. That’s what’s gotten a hold of his insides and has them all twisted - it’s rejection.

_ Fucking Idiot _ . 

He tried to throw a hail mary before the final whistle and it failed. Of all the dumbass, poorly executed, and not-at-all-thought-out plans he’s had, this is right up there at the top of the list.

Just to add salt to the wound, because his brain apparently hasn’t betrayed his heart enough yet, Dean remembers that he still doesn’t  _ actually  _ have confirmation that Cas is gay. Or bi. Or anything other than perfectly, politely straight. 

Dean’s still pretty sure he’s gay, though. He should text Donna and ask her what she thought of him. Donna would know - she’s always had an excellent sense for these things. There was a time when he wouldn’t hesitate to call her, but he’s still uncertain about how welcome his friendship really is anymore, so he slides his phone right back into his pocket before he’s even able to muster the courage to look at her name in his contact list. 

Great. Another failure to be reminded about. Maybe someday Donna will just move away, too. Probably to LA, just because life likes to spite him like that. 

What’s so great about Los Angeles anyway? It’s stupid. It’s overcrowded and dirty and there’s too many people and the buildings are too close together and it smells… probably. So what if he’s only ever been there once? Everyone is superficial and fake and they probably don’t even eat bacon or cheeseburgers, or plow their way through a giant bag of saltwater taffy in two days. Plus, the Dodgers suck and movie stars aren’t even that cool. Except for Harrison Ford. He’s actually the coolest. 

Honestly, what’s Cas even gonna do for a job? Is he fine just being some cog in a corporate machine, punching numbers into a computer? What does someone in finance even do all day? Or is he gonna bartend for a while? He won’t be able to live on his own in LA off a bartender’s salary if that’s the case. He’ll need a roommate (or five) and if he does that, why not just stay here? Why does it  _ have  _ to be Los An— 

“Thought you were tryin’ to fix her, not send her back to the junkyard.” 

Bobby’s gruff voice rings out above Dean’s thoughts, interrupting his silent argument and making him jump. 

“I’m just trying to remove the bumper so I can replace it. The new one arrived a few days ago,” he responds, hoping he’s able to relax his face enough to cover for the fact that his words came out strained. 

“Have I taught you nothing, boy? You keep wailing on it like that and you’re going to cause more harm than good.” 

Bobby shakes his head and without asking, as if Dean is completely hopeless, he spends the next several minutes helping Dean finish removing the damaged, rusted bumper.

“I could’a handled that just fine on my own, ya know… but thanks.” 

Bobby grunts a disbelieving “hmph” and walks over to the small cooler next to the truck that Dean’s recently been keeping stocked, pulling out a water bottle. He spots the several fresh beer bottles inside of it and looks up at Dean with a cocked brow. Dean just shrugs. 

“So you gonna tell me what that was all about or you gonna make me guess?” Bobby asks. 

“What was what about?” Dean knows that Bobby’s a hell of a lot more observant than he looks, but he’s not going to give in that easily. 

“Son, I know you well enough to know better. And if that bumper could talk, I’m guessing it’d have a thing or two to say about whatever’s got your tiara in a tilt, so out with it.” 

Dean grabs a beer out of the cooler because fuck it - if they can all get away with having champagne for breakfast just ‘cause they call it a  _ mimosa _ , then he can have a beer before noon and call it… a “ _ beermosa _ ”. 

He tells Bobby as much and the eye roll Dean receives in response is one for the record books. 

“Jesus Christ, you really are a certain kind of special, aren’t you?” Bobby says, already exasperated. 

If it were anyone else, Dean might be offended, but Bobby has a way with his words and in reality, that man has never been anything less than a supportive, caring, father figure in Dean’s life. He may be rough around the edges but Bobby has a damn good heart. 

“Hey, Bobby? You, uh… you ever thought about leaving this place?” Dean asks, aiming for an air of nonchalance.

“San Seton? Nope. I’m quite happy where I’m at.” 

“You never wanted to try living in a big city somewhere? New York? San Francisco?” He hesitates briefly before he adds, “Los Angeles?”

“Hell no. Big cities are loud, overcrowded, and overrated. I’m just fine staying right here.” He pauses and takes another drink of water. “I’ve got a good house, an amazing wife, and my own business. It’s where you and Sam were raised and except for that brother of yours, just about everyone I care about is here. I’ve got no need to go anywhere else. This is my home.”

Dean’s heart does a little flip. As a general rule, Bobby avoids talking about raising him and Sam. He’s never wanted to take parental credit away from John and Mary, and especially from Ellen, and despite how incredibly false the narrative is, he’s always written himself off as some kind of background character to their childhood. No use arguing, though, because Bobby won’t hear any of it. 

Sometimes Dean can’t tell if his own stubbornness comes from his father or from Bobby. 

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” Dean mumbles. 

“Why? You lookin’ to hightail it outta here?”

“What? No! I’m just curious is all. Trying to figure out what’s so great about—” 

“About Los Angeles?” Bobby finishes for him. 

Dean gives him a hard glare and takes several gulps from his beer. Bobby takes the non-denial for as much of a confirmation as he needs. 

“You know,” Bobby continues casually, “big cities ain’t for everyone but you can always visit. See if you find something there that makes it worth stayin’.”

Dean thinks for a moment, staring at the logo on the bottle for longer than necessary. “A visit might be cool, but big cities are fundamentally different from little towns. Not sure there’s much I can do about that.”

“No, there isn’t. But don’t get so caught up in your own head that you forget that the people living in those big cities might not be quite as different as you think.” Bobby clears his throat. “Anyway, I’ve got work to do, but do me a favor? Go easy on that new bumper - she ain’t the one goin’ anywhere.” 

He gives Dean a pointed look before turning around and walking back to the garage. 

Well fuck. Is he really that transparent? Awesome. 

He looks at his watch and then back at the house. Cas will likely be back soon if he isn’t already. Whatever he needed to talk to Elllen about couldn’t possibly take that long. Either way, Dean’s not ready to face him yet, the embarrassment of rejection still too fresh. He needs to find somewhere else to be until Cas has to go into work, and Bobby’s right; he’s not in the right headspace to be working on the truck either. 

Grabbing his wallet and keys from on top of the tool box, Dean cuts through the garage to the street. Maybe he’s trying a little  _ too  _ hard to avoid Cas, but whatever. That’s his own business. He digs his phone out of his pocket and calls Sam as he begins aimlessly walking down the street.

Sam answers on the third ring. “ _ Hey man, what’s up? _ ”

Dean is relieved that Sam picks up but quickly realizes that he has no plans for the conversation and he’s walking with no destination in mind.

“Hiya Sammy. How’s things?” 

“ _ Uhhhh. They’re good, I guess. Why? What’s wrong? _ ” 

Dean rolls his eyes even though Sam can’t see him. “What do you mean ‘what’s wrong’? Can’t a big brother call his little brother for no reason other than to say hi?” 

“ _ You’re not a phone guy, Dean. We both know that.” _

Rubbing a hand through his hair, he’s already wondering how quickly he’s going to regret having made this phone call. “Everything’s fine, Sam,” he lies. 

_ “Oookaaay. Well since you clearly don’t wanna talk about whatever it is you don’t wanna talk about, I’m good. Great, actually. Aced my research paper. _ ” 

“Yeah? That’s awesome.” It’s not like Dean’s surprised, but he’s proud of his dorky little brother nonetheless.

“ _ Except now I gotta start studying for finals. They’re in just a few weeks and I have this one professor who’s a real hardass.” _

“I’m sure you’ll do great.” 

There’s an awkward silence between them and Dean’s about to look down to see if the call dropped when Sam speaks again.

_ “You’re distracted.” _

“Am not,” he responds automatically, defensive big brother mode activated. 

_ “Are too.” _

“Am not.”

Sam lets out an annoyed huff and Dean grins to himself, smug and victorious. 

_ “Wouldn't have anything to do with the guy sleeping on your couch, would it?”  _

“How in the hell do you know about Ca— about Steve?” 

_ “You’re not the only person I talk to, Dean. Bobby told me. Then Ellen. Jody mentioned him, too.”  _

Dean stops on the sidewalk and runs a hand down his face. “Jesus. He’s just a guy I let crash with me for awhile, alright? Besides, he’s leaving on Tuesday anyway. He’s as good as gone.” 

_ “Then why do you sound like you’re upset about it?”  _ Apparently, it’s Sam’s turn to be smug.

“What? I’m not— It’s— You know what, forget it.” Dean hears Sam sigh on the other side of the line, so he changes the subject before Sam has the chance to get all preachy on him. “Hey, you still coming home for spring break?” 

_ “Yeah, but only for a few days. A friend of mine has a cabin up at Lake Tahoe and she invited me to stay there with her for a while.” _

“She?” Now this just got interesting. “This wouldn’t be the same girl you’ve been having all those study dates with, would it?”

_ “Yeah, same girl.” _

“Uh huh. And your finals will be over then, so what kind of studying do you plan on doing at this cabin?”

_ “Shut up, Dean.” _

“Does she have a sister?” 

_ “How about I tell you about her as soon as you tell me all about Steve?” _

Dean laughs. “Well played, bitch.” 

_ “Learned from the best, jerk.”  _

They say their quick goodbyes and hang up. Stupid him for assuming that a call with Sam would be free of any talk about Cas because of course everyone told Sam, and of course Sam was going to butt in. Can’t keep a goddamn thing quiet in this family. 

He racks his brain trying to think of anyone that won’t know about Cas, anywhere he can go to get a guaranteed break.

Bingo. Charlie. 

He hasn’t seen or talked to her in at least a few weeks, which isn’t out of the ordinary for them and exactly what makes her the perfect choice. If anyone needed to put a label on it, Charlie has always been more of Sam’s friend since they shared a lot of the same classes in high school, but even as the years pass by and with Sam being in college, he and Charlie don’t lose touch. She knows him enough to be a friend, but hopefully not so much that she knows a single damn thing about Cas (he just hopes Sam’s big fat mouth hasn’t blabbed to her yet).

He shoots her a quick text asking her if she’s working or if she’s home and she responds within seconds that she’s at the library. Perfect. 

Dean makes a quick stop at his favorite coffee shop and walks the rest of the way to the library. When he gets there, he’s not sure which Charlie spots first; him, or the giant frappuccino in his hand. 

“Ohhhh gimme gimme gimme,” she says quietly but with no lack of enthusiasm. Her arms are outstretched with her fingers wiggling as she maneuvers herself out from behind the front counter. He hands over the drink and she closes her eyes while taking the first sip. “Mmmm. You’re the best.”

“Thank you.” 

“I was talking to the coffee,” she quips. 

They both laugh and exchange a quick hug. Charlie invites him to sit with her at an overstuffed reading couch near the front lobby. As long as it’s not occupied, it’s her preferred hang out spot when anyone visits her at work because it has the best vantage point for keeping an eye on the counter in case a patron approaches. 

“So what brings you to my domain?” Charlie asks. 

“I was just out for a walk and remembered I hadn’t seen you for awhile.”

“Uh huh” she responds, her answer dripping with doubt. 

“What?” 

“Dean. Please. Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. We go too far back for that. You need something.” 

“I—” Dean begins, but Charlie pins him with an intense gaze, making him reconsider the lie he’s about to tell. He goes for vague honesty instead. “—I just need a friend right now, I guess.” 

She accepts the premise without contention. “Well then, you’ve got one.” 

They spend the next long while talking, catching up, and enjoying each other’s company. They’re interrupted a few times by the library’s phone or a few people with questions, but it’s been so enjoyable that Dean nearly forgot that he had something that he was supposed to forget. Then Charlie brings him back to reality. 

“Hey, I’ve got to get back to work, like, for real—” Dean feels his face fall and she must notice. “— but if you wanna keep this good thing going, how about you buy me dinner when my shift ends in two hours?”

He easily agrees and decides that the time in between can be spent running a few errands around town, except... he needs his car for that, and his car is at home.  _ Shit _ . 

Time to suck it up, Winchester.

He’s prepared to stare down his embarrassment and face Cas but what he finds instead of those big blue eyes he’s come to adore, is an empty apartment. Weird. Cas should’ve definitely been back by now, but the abandoned coffee mugs from this morning are still sitting on the table and Cas for sure would have put them away had he been back. 

Oh well. Dean takes it as the blessing that it is and grabs some reusable shopping bags before pulling Baby out of the driveway and steering her towards the grocery store. When he’s checking out, he realizes too late that he’s planned all his meals and done all his shopping for two. 

_ Fuck _ .

Dean tries his hardest to push down the disappointment and convinces himself that he needs the extra food for leftovers anyway. He’s a great cook, so why wouldn’t he want to eat all his meals twice? 

After another quick stop at the hardware store Dean goes home, puts away the groceries, and showers. He changes into a clean pair of jeans and tosses a comfortable flannel over his soft t-shirt. He doesn’t pay too much attention to his outfit or his hair because it’s not like he’s trying to impress anyone. Charlie prefers the ladies and Dean hasn’t had anyone on his radar since forever ago… Cas doesn’t count. 

He meets Charlie at a small bistro a few blocks away from the library and chooses to walk there, thinking the fresh air is doing him some good today. Most everything around town is within walking distance so he takes advantage of it as best he can. 

Charlie is already there, her red hair glistening in the sunlight as she sits at a small table in the outdoor patio, sipping an iced tea. Dean joins her and in no time at all, they fall easily back into a comfortable conversation and, not for the first time today, he wonders why they don’t do this more often. 

When the server comes around he orders a cheeseburger and Charlie asks for a BLT, but then she also adds two chocolate chip cookies with the special request that they be brought out as appetizers instead of dessert. When Dean gives her a questioning look she tells him that the homemade cookies are  _ to die for _ and that life’s too short to save dessert for last, and well, he certainly can’t argue that logic. They’re finishing up their appetizer dessert when Charlie changes her tone.

“So. This has been fun and all, but why are we really doing this, Dean?” He almost chokes on his last bite and swallows hard. “Don’t get me wrong, I love hanging out with you when the opportunity arises, but we haven’t spent this much time together in what? A few years? So spill.” 

“Charlie—”

“No, don’t ‘Charlie’ me. I know something’s bothering you, it’s written all over your face, and if I’m going to let you buy me dinner, you gotta at least put out a little.” 

“Alright. Fine,” he says, unable to resist Charlie’s confident charm. “But I swear I didn’t mean to bug you today just to tell you my personal shit. I really did want to see you.” 

Dean is sincere. He never intended to lay this on her but if he thinks about it hard enough, maybe in the back of his mind he actually hoped she’d drag it out of him. Maybe part of him really does just want to be sad in someone else’s company. God, he’s pathetic. 

“I know.” She looks at him with a fond smile. “But I’m still gonna make you tell me.” 

Over the next thirty minutes, Dean tells her about the mystery man that’s been sleeping on his couch. He finds himself being brutally honest, too, only stopping when their meals arrive and even then, he barely takes a breath. 

He tells her about how they first met at Bobby’s shop, how he bought Cas ( _ Steve _ ) lunch in Bagyo and suspected he was homeless. He divulges how he got Cas the job at The Roadhouse, that he already knows how Cas takes his coffee, and even how Cas asked Dean about his parents like he actually gave a shit. He even admits to how Cas nearly burned down his kitchen a few nights ago. 

“Hold on. Wait. Stop,” Charlie interrupts, holding up her hands for emphasis.

Dean freezes with a ketchup-dipped french fry halfway to his mouth. “What?”

“You said he was dreamy, right?” she asks.

“I definitely did  _ not _ use the word ‘dreamy’, but he yeah, he’s… hot. Really hot, actually.” Dean smiles despite himself. 

“Yeah yeah, I get it. Sheesh. So… dark, crazy hair. Blue eyes. Definitely not from around here.” She ticks off each point with a finger, like she’s adding up the facts. 

“Yes, yes, and yes,” Dean confirms.

“Does he also have broad shoulders and a jawline almost as sharp as yours? And a deep, sexy voice that makes even this girl's knees go a little weak?” 

“Ye— wait. How the hell do you—” 

“Holy shit, I know him! Well, he’s been in the library a bunch of times. And OHMYGOD, I helped him pick out the cookbook! He’s never actually told me his name, but the cookbook was Rachel Ray, right?” 

Dean finally drops the french fry onto his plate and rubs the back of his neck. “Yup, that’s the one. Shit.” He shakes his head, suddenly very unsure of whether or not talking to Charlie was a mistake. “I can’t believe I didn’t put it together. He’s mentioned the library a few times but I’m pretty sure I’ve had so much practice ignoring that word thanks to Sam that my brain just automatically redacts it from conversation.”

“Oh. Oh this is— yeah. Okay. Alright.” She nods her head up and down as Dean waits for her to combine words together and form an actual sentence. 

“Charlie, spit it out. This is what?” 

“This is good, Dean. Like,  _ really  _ good. You’re obviously into him and—” 

“I’m not into him,” he interrupts quickly, “I just like him as—”

“Dean Winchester, if you try to finish that sentence with the phrase ‘as a friend’ or ‘as a brother’, so help me Aphrodite, I will walk away from this damn table and never speak to you again.” Dean snaps his mouth shut and Charlie continues. “Maybe lying to yourself has worked for you so far, but I can see right through that bullshit. You’re not even a little bit subtle.” 

She glares at him in such a way that even the most decorated military soldiers wouldn’t stand a chance lying to her. Charlie should really consider a job with the FBI. 

“Okay fine. But it doesn’t matter anyway. Haven’t you been listening? He’s leaving, Charlie.” An angry cocktail of regret, disappointment, and rejection sits heavy in his gut. 

“Leaving or not, that boy likes you right back.” 

“Come on, don’t do that,” Dean begs. Even if he’s willing to admit the possibility that Charlie might be right (which he’s not), what good is it going to do him? What good is it going to do Cas? No, it’s better to just wallow in self pity for a little while and then get over it. It’s the only option. 

“Look, I’ve sat here and listened to you gush over this guy, okay? I’m gonna call it like I see it, and I  _ saw  _ it.” 

“What’s that even supposed to mean?” 

“Let me put it this way; Steve didn’t give me too many details about his plans for your dinner but when he left with that cookbook, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that that boy was about to get laid, because he didn’t talk about that dinner like he was cooking it for a  _ friend _ .” 

Charlie sits back in her seat and crosses her arms over her chest, waiting for him to let it all sink in. 

He picks up another french fry and uses it to swirl the mound of ketchup around on his plate. He doesn’t know how to process all of this, or even if he wants to. 

“So what do I do?” he asks, hoping that she’s got some magic solution to his boy problems. 

“Have you asked Donna that question?” Charlie approaches the inquiry with reservation and when Dean wipes his hands across his face without providing an immediate answer, she presses gently on. “I know you two don’t see as much of each other as you used to, but I was hoping that would’ve changed by now.” 

“Me too.” He takes a deep breath knowing Charlie is going to expect more of a response than that. “I actually saw her recently and we’re cool, but yeah, it’s not like it used to be.”

“Why not? She’s your best friend, Dean. What’s standing in your way?” 

“You know how bad I fucked up. This whole town knows. I guess I just don’t know how to come back from that.” Dean shrugs his shoulders, not wanting to get into this conversation. Not a day goes by that he isn’t reminded of his mistakes in one way or another. He’s done well for himself the past few years but he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to escape the oppressive shadow of his former wrongdoings. 

Charlie lets him feel sorry for himself for only a moment before she sits up and steals a fry off his plate. 

“If you have plans for after this, cancel them immediately.”

That certainly wasn’t what he was expecting her to say. “Why? What’s happening?” 

“You said earlier that Steve is working tonight, right?” Dean nods in the affirmative. “Well then we’re going to The Roadhouse. I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink.” 

Dean tries to argue but it’s a fruitless attempt. Charlie’s always been pretty headstrong and he knows he’s going to lose this battle anyway, but maybe this is one he doesn’t want to win, and he could definitely use a drink (or six). Plus, hasn’t he been the one who’s been talking about how Cas is going to leave the day after tomorrow anyway? What’s he got to lose? 

They finish their meal and get into Charlie’s car. The Roadhouse is only a few blocks away but she insists that she needs to drive home and change first, and since Dean isn’t going to show up at The Roadhouse by himself, it makes sense that he tags along for the ride. 

Charlie doesn’t take long getting ready but they relax in her apartment for a little while and share a beer before making their way to the bar. 

When they get there, Dean’s first instinct is to scan the place. He’s surprised to find a decent crowd for a Sunday night. It’s not so busy that they can’t easily find a booth to claim as their own, but it’s full enough that the atmosphere is lively and energetic. It also doesn’t take long to register that Cas is nowhere in sight.

Benny is the first to spot them. 

“Well look what the cat dragged in,” he says in his familiar deep drawl. “Thought I was supposed to be seein’ more of ya when I got back, not less.” The comment is directed at Dean and he turns to Charlie next, his face softening. “Hiya, Red. Good to see you.”

Charlie gives Benny a big bear hug and he kisses her cheek. They don’t really hang out in the same crowd anymore but they’ve been friends for several years. Both Benny and Charlie moved to San Seton when they were teenagers in high school and they immediately bonded over being the new kids in a small town. Benny and Dean became close instantly while Charlie hung out with Sam and his nerdy friends, but no matter how many good-natured insults were hurled back and forth or how much they pretended to be rivals, they all spent a good deal of their time together in one way or another. 

“I just saw you this morning,” Dean argues. 

“That doesn’t count as us hanging out and you know it.” Benny points an accusatory finger in Dean’s direction. “In fact, this doesn’t even count right now because I’m  _ working _ . Ya know, brother, I’m beginning to think you only love me when I’m behind the bar, supplying booze,” he teases. 

“A man after my own heart.” Dean fakes a dramatic swoon and Benny rolls his eyes. 

“I’m on a mission to get him socialized. It’s why we’re here - I’m not letting him hang out alone in his house,” Charlie chimes in. 

“Oh, is that where he’s been? You sure he hasn’t—” 

“Alright, hey. Aren’t you two supposed to be my friends?” Dean interjects.

“You know what, you’re right. The least we can do is let you get some alcohol in you before we give you hell.” She turns to Benny. “Two beers please, barkeep!” 

“As you wish, m’lady.” Benny bows and makes his way to the bar, stopping to take a few additional orders along the way.

As Dean follows Benny’s movements he takes another look around, but Cas is nowhere to be seen. That’s weird because Cas usually works side by side with Benny, and it’s not like Ellen would put him on any type of kitchen duty on his last day. He realizes he’s been staring around the bar for too long when his leg is kicked from under the table. 

“Ow!” 

“Dude. Obvious much?” Charlie asks, the art of subtlety apparently lost on her as well. 

They’re still bickering about it when Benny comes back with the drinks, setting down a bottle of Blue Thursday in front of each of them. They chat for a few minutes while Charlie praises the beer choice and Benny tells Charlie about visiting his family a few weeks back. Dean stays mostly quiet but his eyes dart around looking for any sign of Cas. 

When there’s a short lull in the conversation, he finally decides to speak up. “Hey, where’s Steve? You makin’ him clean the bathrooms on his last night?”

Charlie hides a smirk behind her beer bottle but she looks just as interested in the answer as Dean. 

“Nah, brother. He’s been upstairs with Ellen since I got here. When my shift started, she came down to tell me that Steve wasn’t going to be working the floor tonight and I haven’t seen him since,” Benny explains. 

“Hold on. You mean he’s been here since our breakfast?”

“He never went home with you? Well shit. That would explain why I saw Ellen go back upstairs with sandwiches.” Benny leans in and lowers his voice. “Between us, she’s been acting real strange today.” 

“Strange how?” Dean wonders. 

“Distracted. Quiet. She seems frazzled, and you know Ellen, she never gets like that.” 

“What do you think it is?” Charlie adds, never one to turn away from town gossip. 

“No idea, but it’s proba—” 

Dean doesn’t hear the rest of that sentence because movement on the other side of the bar catches his attention, and everything goes quiet when he sees Cas standing opposite them. He’s just emerged from the long hallway that leads to the staircase up to Ellen’s office.

Cas is wearing the same clothes as this morning; a pair of dark jeans and one of Dean’s navy blue v-neck tees. Dean has basically let Cas have access to his wardrobe for whatever he needs, but he only ever borrows t-shirts on occasion (and Dean refuses to admit that Cas usually looks so much better in them, probably something to do with his thick frame… or something like that). 

His hair is mussed up, as if he’s been running his hands through it all day, and he looks exhausted. But also…  _ glasses _ . Cas is wearing black framed glasses and why is that the hottest thing he’s ever seen? Dean’s noticed a case for glasses lying around a few times, but he’s never actually seen Cas wear them. 

When Cas’s eyes search the room and finally land on his, Dean’s heart flips. A warm smile spreads across Cas’s face, slow and bright, as their gazes lock. His features soften and his eyes shine, and he almost looks like a different person than the one who appeared from the hallway just seconds ago.

Charlie clears her throat and it snaps Dean back to attention, realizing that the conversation around him has also died out. Words are lost on Dean’s tongue and he can’t seem to take his eyes off Cas, but thankfully Benny is there to break the silence. He waves Cas over. 

“Well here’s our little hostage. You’ve escaped!” Benny says once Cas is within reasonable earshot. “We were beginning to wonder.”

“Hello, Dean.” There’s a pausing breath before Cas eventually tears his eyes away from Dean to look at Benny. “Hi Benny. I’m sorry I haven’t been here. I understand that Ellen informed you I wouldn’t be fulfilling my shift tonight, but it was never my intention to leave you without help.” 

“Don’t mention it. We’ve already got someone covering your shift. Boss lady gave me the heads up and what she says goes.” Benny pats him on the shoulder with a smirk. 

Dean watches as Cas finally notices Charlie sitting in the booth with him. She’s been quietly waiting her turn but the wicked grin on her face has Dean holding his breath.

“Charlie?” Cas says, eyes darting back and forth between all three of them. “What are you doing here? Do you know—?” 

“Dean? Oh yeah, I know Dean. Benny, too. We go way back. Question is, how come I didn’t know that  _ you _ know Dean?”

“Well I didn’t know that you knew them, or I would’ve let you know that I also know them.” Cas pinches his forehead together. “Wait. Did that make sense?” 

Charlie giggles and gives Dean a wink across the table. 

“Well as fun as this is, fellas, I gotta get back to work. Steve, I’ll grab you a beer. What’ll you have?” Benny asks. 

Cas looks stunned, obviously used to being the server, not the served, but Benny gives him an encouraging nod. “Ummm…” 

“Here, try this.” Dean offers up his own beer and hands over the bottle of Blue Thursday.

Cas takes a small sip and smiles after he swallows, eyes wide in surprise. “That’s delicious.”

“He’ll have what he’s having,” Charlie tells Benny, desperately trying to control the look of sheer delight on her face while she lifts her chin towards Cas and then Dean.

Charlie’s the one that gets a kick under the table this time. 

Benny leaves again and just as Dean is about to scoot over and make room on the bench, Charlie beats him to the punch. She slides across the seat and pats her hand on the space next to her. “Come sit next to me, Steve.” 

Cas follows her instruction and settles into the booth while Charlie gives Dean a cheshire grin. He’s about to regret ever telling her a damn thing, isn’t he? He should’ve known better. 

As Benny drops off Cas’s beer, the three of them begin to get reacquainted when Charlie asks Dean how he and Cas met, graciously letting Dean off the hook for having already spilled all the details to her over dinner. 

He tells a watered down story and Charlie nods along, interested as ever. They recap the past few weeks and Charlie perks up when she hears about their second visit to Bagyo, her eyes growing wide and boring into Dean’s from across the table when Cas mentions that they went to Seabreeze Point. After that, she looks straight at Cas, her smile too sweet to be innocent, and tells him all about her favorite restaurant on the bay. Dean discovers her ulterior motive when she coyly suggests that he and Cas have dinner there tomorrow night. 

Dean knows the restaurant - The Tidepool. It’s right on the water and has an amazing bar that opens up to the ocean. It’s also known for being a hotspot for watching sea lions play in the water and for stellar views of the sunset. Dean knows all this because he’s taken his dates there a time or two.

_ Charlie, that sneaky little minx. _

As their conversation continues, Benny brings another round of beers for everyone and Dean watches as the tension in Cas’s shoulders begins to relax, his pinched face morphing into something soft and smiley. Dean appreciates getting to see the change happen directly across from him, and okay, so maybe Charlie knew exactly what she was doing all along. 

By the time Benny brings round three, Dean has failed to get Cas to tell them what he was doing all day in Ellen’s office. Cas got all quiet and weird the first time he asked about it, but Dean’s pretty sure he would’ve been able to break him eventually if it weren’t for Ellen. She overheard him when he was asking Cas about it the second time and gave him an earful before she left. She looked particularly exhausted while saying her goodbyes and what makes this all even more curious is the fact that she cancelled their Sunday family dinner. It was her turn to host it tonight but she sent out a text earlier in the day with her apologies.

With Ellen gone, he’s about to ask for the third time anyway when Benny’s voice interrupts, grabbing their attention. 

“Well I’ll be damned! Look who it is.” 

He sounds excited and before Dean has the chance to turn around and see who all the commotion is about, a familiar voice rings out in response.

“Hiya Benny! You best come out from behind that counter right this instant to give me a hug!” Donna demands. 

Benny is already halfway there and they embrace in a crushing hug, her feet lifted off the ground when he leans back and takes her with him. 

Dean looks on, surprised to see her, but quickly maneuvers himself out of the booth, Cas and Charlie doing the same. When Benny backs away, Dean moves in for his own hug, not wanting to be left out. Donna has always given the very best hugs and, truth be told, he sure as hell could use one of them right about now.

“What are you doing here?” Dean asks, briefly closing his eyes, savoring the moment.

“I invited her,” Charlie answers. They swap places and Charlie gives him a wink over Donna’s shoulder. “Since we were having a bit of an impromptu meetup, I asked if she wanted to join us.” 

“And Steve’s here too?!” Donna bounces from Charlie to Cas and this time, he hugs back. “Well it really is a party, isn’t it? What’s the occasion?” 

“Nothing special,” Charlie explains, “except that Dean and I felt like drinking and it’s Steve’s last day in town tomorrow.” 

“You leavin’ on a trip or somethin’?” Donna asks. 

“Um, no, not exactly.” Cas answers. 

He has that deer-in-headlights look again and Dean almost stays quiet in order to make Cas explain the situation himself, but the thought is only fleeting and he jumps in; “Mr. Bigshot here is moving onto bigger and better things in the City of Angels.” 

If Dean thought the panicked look on Cas’s face would dissipate after that, he was wrong. Cas’s eyes snap up to meet his own and Dean sees… he doesn’t really know. Nervousness? Worry, maybe? Regret? 

Of course it’s not regret. Cas has been itching to leave this place since he got here. He wasn’t exactly in a hurry, but it’s been his plan from the beginning, hasn’t it? All Dean has managed to do is help delay his departure date, so no, of course Cas doesn’t have regret. 

“Oh my! That’s exciting,” Donna exclaims, but not before flicking her eyes towards Dean. “Well since we’re celebrating, who’s up for shots? First round’s on me.” 

Charlie throws an arm around Cas and shouts a “hell yeah!”. Dean smiles and they all slide back into the booth, Donna taking her seat next to Dean as Benny shakes his head and laughs. 

He comes back several minutes later with a round of five tequila shots and a bowl of lime slices. 

“Who’s taking the fifth shot?” Cas asks. 

They all look at Benny. “What? You think I’d let you assholes take this round without me? Not a chance.”

The table cheers and they raise their shot glasses to a toast of Cas’s last day. 

Dean watches Cas across the table as he tilts his head back and swallows the tequila, his eyes tracking the movement of Cas’s adam's apple as it works in his throat, just below the sharp cut of his jaw and between the defining muscles along his neck. It’s mesmerizing. Dean didn’t even realize that a neck could be so fucking  _ hot _ . He wonders what the muscles and stubble would feel like under his tongue and okay... maybe he’s already a little tipsy. 

He tears his eyes away long enough to take his own shot, enjoying the burning warmth of the liquid as it spreads out to his fingertips. He feels his cheeks flush and it could either be from the liquor or maybe the fact that he finds Charlie watching him watch Cas. 

“I can’t believe you still have that thing,” Donna says, interrupting Dean’s internal fantasy. 

“What thing?” he asks. 

“That fucking flannel. How many years has it been? At least five? Longer?”

Dean looks down and realizes he’s wearing what Donna used to lovingly call his “bi-flannel”. It’s pink, purple, and blue and just so happens to be one of his most favorite pieces of clothing he owns. It’s worn in, soft, and was a gift from Donna after he officially came out to her their senior year of high school. He’s never once considered getting rid of it and just the thought of it in a landfill somewhere makes him sad.

“What’s wrong with it?” Cas asks. “I really like it.” 

Donna and Charlie both turn to Cas, who immediately finds something very interesting in the bottom of his empty shot glass. The girls look at one another and smile. 

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean says, hoping to break up whatever secret conversation those two have going on between them. Girls are weird, and he’s pretty sure they all have inherent magical communication abilities. 

Charlie’s eyebrows pinch together. “Cas? Why’d you call him—”

“Don’t ask!” Donna and Benny both say in unison as Benny brings another round of beers and a plate of nachos to the table, along with a whiskey sour for Donna. 

Thankfully, the table erupts in laughter, sparing Dean further embarrassment. 

They spend the next two hours doing much of the same; drinking, laughing, and everyone doing their best to tease Dean as much as possible. Even Cas gets in on the jokes here and there. 

As the night grows so does the warmth in Dean’s chest, and it’s definitely not just from the alcohol. He hasn’t laughed this hard in so long that he’d nearly forgotten what it’s like to feel this much joy. Being surrounded by his old friends, sharing stories, finding old jokes still funny years later, it’s all so very  _ easy _ . 

For the past two years he’s been convinced that he could never have this again and that this part of his life was gone forever, but being here tonight gives him hope that maybe, just maybe, he could have it all back. And on top of that, he can’t help but realize that this is all because of Cas. Not that he directly planned it all out, but Cas is the one who set all of this into motion, isn’t he? 

It strikes Dean then just how seamlessly Cas fits in, like he belongs here, but Dean’s heart deflates the second he remembers that this moment will be short lived with Cas leaving in barely more than twenty-four hours. 

A wave of sadness is about to pull him under when a soft hand lands on his shoulder. 

“Whad’ya say we get these yahoos another round of shots? What’s one more drink on a Sunday?” Donna says, leaning into his ear with that devious tone he knows all too well. 

Charlie overhears and shouts “Yes please!” and then adds, “and while you’re at it, Steve and I are going to have a little chat.”

Dean’s worried about what that means but before he can protest, Donna grabs his hand and drags him towards the bar. When he stands, he finds that he’s unsteady on his feet and his limbs are tingly and wobbly. 

_ How much has he had to drink? _

Donna pulls out two barstools and motions for him to sit, so he does. 

“I’m really glad you’re here,” he blurts out, the filter from his brain to his mouth all but gone. 

_ Okay, so the answer is a lot - he’s had a lot of drinks. _

Donna turns to him with a smile so soft and endearing that he nearly goes in for another hug on impulse, but he manages to refrain. Barely. 

“Really? ‘Cause I was worried that you might not want me here.” She looks at him but he doesn’t say anything, his brain working on overdrive trying to figure out what the hell she means by that. “When Charlie texted me, I almost didn’t come. I wasn’t sure where we stood and didn’t want to intrude.” 

“Intrude? What the hell are you talking about?” He isn’t mad, he’s confused. “I didn’t know Charlie was messaging you, but the only reason I didn’t do it myself is because I figured I burned that bridge two years ago. I never imagined you’d  _ want _ to be here.” 

Dean doesn’t know where this is going but he figures that if they’re ever going to hash this out, now’s the time. Under the blanket of alcoholic protection, he has the courage to say things he might otherwise hold back, and a scapegoat should one of those things not be well received. It’s win, win.

“You mean this whole time you thought—”

“I thought we weren’t friends anymore, Donna. Friendly with each other, sure, but not friends.” Dean swallows against the lump forming in his throat. 

“Oh, Dean...” Donna has a look of sadness in her eyes that makes Dean want to break down in tears right here in this bar. 

“I miss you,” he says. “I miss us.” 

“I’ve missed us, too. But you never lost me, ya jerk. I’ve been here the whole time.” 

Dean can’t hold it back anymore and he lunges forward, throwing his arms around her shoulders. “So we’re okay?” he asks into her shoulder. 

“More than okay. We’re besties, and don’t you forget it.”

Donna’s voice cracks and if Dean holds onto the hug for a few beats too long and squeezes her just a little harder, well she’ll keep his secrets, just like she always has. 

They peel apart and Dean’s elated. “Another round, Benny! This time on me. Pretty sure I owe this woman drinks for the rest of forever.” 

They smile at each other and Donna grabs his hand and squeezes it, and yeah, they’re gonna be alright. 

“So… about this Steve guy…” Donna says next, mischief in her voice. 

“Not you too?” he groans as Donna shakes her head enthusiastically. “Fine, but not before we throw these shots back.”

Dean doesn’t remember much after that. 


	8. Chapter 8

Consciousness slowly tugs at the edges of Castiel’s mind, urging him to open his eyes, but they’re resistant and refuse to obey. 

To say that he’s groggy would be a giant misrepresentation of the truth because he can barely move, and if it weren’t for the throbbing in his head and the pain in his side, he might not even be convinced he’s alive. His body feels abnormally heavy and when he tries to roll onto his side, the effort is too strenuous, so he abandons the motion altogether. 

This must be what death feels like. His mother always said that hangovers are God’s punishment for indulgent sins and, as if on cue, the learned guilt makes its home in the pit of his stomach, right alongside the nausea. 

Breathing slowly, he lays on the couch for several minutes, but it could be hours. Time is a concept that eludes him at the moment and he might even fall back asleep a time or two, but who really knows because he sure as hell doesn’t. 

He eventually manages to lift an arm just enough to bring his hand to his face and rub at his forehead, hoping the light massage of his fingers will ease the pounding in his head. Eyes still closed, he reaches out for the coffee table hoping to locate the glass of water that he usually keeps there at night but his efforts remain fruitless. He can’t even feel the table.

_ What happened last night? _

He remembers The Roadhouse and seeing Dean. He remembers that Charlie and Donna were both there, too. He remembers beer, and… tequila. Yup, there was definitely tequila. 

His stomach roils at the foggy memory of shots and lime slices and he immediately derails that train of thought - it just wouldn’t be fair to Dean if Castiel ruins his couch because he can’t hold it together. It’s such a nice couch. Comfortable. In fact, it’s never been as comfortable as it is now. It almost feels like memory foam, but that’s funny because the couch doesn’t have memory foam. 

Castiel manages to blink his eyes open at the same time he tries to sit up but again, something is holding down his legs and there’s an added weight across his chest. He tries to focus and— 

_ This isn’t the couch.  _

This is Dean’s room. He’s in Dean’s  _ bed _ . That’s Dean’s arm across his chest.

_ What the fuck.  _

Panic shoots through his veins and his mind races. The rush of it all makes him dizzy and it’s too much happening at once and he needs to breathe because he can’t be sick.  _ He can’t. _ So he wills himself to take a deep breath and not make any knee-jerk movements. 

This is fine. Everything’s fine. He’s just going to wake Dean up and piece this all together. 

“Dean?” he whispers. There’s a tiny grumble next to him. “Dean”, he says again, louder this time. 

Another grumble muffled by a pillow. “Hrrrnghrmph.”

“Dean. Why are you cuddling me?” 

This time, Dean wiggles a little closer. “You’re comfy,” he mumbles.

Castiel lays still. He doesn’t know what to do. Part of his brain tells him to leave immediately.  _ Run _ . Get out of this bed, out of this house, and out of this city. But the other part of his brain tells him to stay.  _ Relax _ . Because waking up next to the most perfect man in existence isn’t a bad thing, even if it is a totally drunken accident, right? In fact, if he just goes back to sleep, maybe he can enjoy the cuddling just a little longer. Maybe Dean’s too tired to have noticed that Castiel woke up at all and he can just go right on pretending that nothing is out of the ordinary, because it’s totally fine that Dean’s wrapped around him in a position so comfortable it’s almost like they’ve done this before. 

Too much of a coward to choose either extreme, he walks the middle ground. Of course he does. He’s not going to run but he can’t stay here either, as much as he might try to convince himself he should. It’s too bad because Dean is incredibly comfy - he’s warm and sleepy and obviously unbothered. He seems totally content… until he isn’t.

Castiel knows the exact moment when Dean’s brain comes back online and he realizes what’s happening. Dean sucks in a sharp breath and his soft, pliable limbs turn rigid. They both freeze. 

“Cas?”

Dean sounds just as confused as Castiel, which is a relief. Dean doesn’t wait for him to respond before he very slowly and carefully disentangles himself from Castiel and the sheets, moving as though he’s still not quite sure where sleep ends and reality begins. 

Eventually managing to roll onto his back, Dean stares at the ceiling. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice wavering somewhere between shock and indifference. 

“It’s fine”, Castiel responds, unable to come up with anything better to say while also keeping his own eyes trained on the ceiling.

A long, uninterrupted moment passes between them, neither daring to move. The silence seems like it goes on for hours and Castiel wonders if Dean’s fallen back asleep or if he’s simply regretting every decision he ever made that led him to this very moment. 

Castiel’s just trying to figure out how to disappear. 

“Listen,” Dean says carefully, “I uh… I’m gonna be honest. I don’t remember much.” There’s another pause. “Did we, uh… I didn’t… did anything happen last night?” 

“We’re both still fully clothed,” Castiel says automatically. He already checked. 

“Oh. Okay. Good. Yeah. That’s good.” Dean sounds more confused than relieved, though surely he must be the latter. 

“I don’t remember much either, but I’d definitely remember that.” Castiel’s face grows instantly hot and he wishes the mattress would just swallow him whole.  _ Why did he say that? Is he still drunk?  _

From his peripheral he can see Dean turn his head. Reluctantly, Castiel turns to meet his gaze and regrets it immediately because even through the fog of his hangover and from underneath the weight of his own mortification, Dean is beautiful in the morning. His hair is a mess and he’s got a crease across his forehead from the pillowcase, but his eyes are a gentle green and the soft curve of his cupid’s bow is enough to make Castiel’s heart beat faster. His skin is highlighted with a dusting of light freckles that stand out against his pink cheeks and when Dean briefly wets his lips with his tongue, Castiel has to swallow hard against his own dry mouth which somehow became even dryer in the last ten seconds. 

Castiel shifts against the sheets and it’s a damn good thing this hangover has his mind as fuzzy as it does; otherwise, he’d be pitching an extremely unfortunate tent in his pants right about now. Thank god that part of his body is also protesting last night’s festivities.

After carefully taking note of every new detail afforded to him at this proximity, Castiel’s eyes finally manage to wander back up to meet Dean’s again and, if he were any more gullible, he just might believe that Dean had been studying him right back. 

They both inhale to speak at the same time but with Castiel’s brain still lagging, he’s unable to stop the words already forming to let Dean speak first, inadvertently cutting him off. 

“Do you smell coffee?” 

Dean closes his mouth against whatever it was he was about to say and looks towards the bedroom door. He tilts his nose to the air and breathes deeply. “Yup… and bacon”.

“Donna”, they say at the same time, Dean’s eyes lighting up. 

Castiel follows his lead and they roll out of opposite sides of the bed, still fully clothed as promised. Castiel is lightheaded upon standing but he definitely doesn’t miss the way Dean stretches his arms above his head and twists at the waist to loosen his joints. He let’s Dean walk out first as he follows behind. 

“Mornin’ sleepy heads! I was about to start without you.” Donna is standing in the kitchen and is far too perky for what Castiel assumes is still early morning. 

“Is this what I think it is?” Dean asks, sounding impressively alert. 

“You betcha! The perfect hangover cure: bacon, eggs cooked in bacon grease, more bacon, and biscuits to soak it all up. Add to that a big glass of water, a cup of coffee, and two aspirin and you’ll be feelin’ better in no time.” 

Dean grins wide and looks at Castiel. “She’s not wrong. I’ve put this cure to the test more times and I care to admit. Works every time.” 

Donna begins spooning food onto plates while Dean fills three glasses of water and Castiel pours the coffee. They move gingerly around the kitchen, except for Donna who appears to be fairing far better than either he or Dean, which doesn’t make sense because even though he doesn’t remember much, he knows she was drinking right along with the rest of them. 

They manage to all sit down at the small table and begin eating, Castiel extremely thankful that his nausea subsided before leaving Dean’s room. He’s still shaky and has to take it slow with the solid food, but the water is a blessing and the coffee a gift from the heavens. 

“So uh, Donna, I’m afraid to ask but what exactly happened last night?” Dean treads lightly, though it’s obvious that he wants to know the answer. He stuffs another piece of bacon into his mouth and gives Castiel a quick side-glance, almost as if he doesn’t want to have to ask the question in Castiel’s presence. 

“I was wonderin’ if you’d remember ‘cause you were smashed, let me tell you.” Donna smirks knowingly without missing a beat and Castiel gets the distinct impression that this is a game these two have played many times before. There’s a familiarity to it. 

“Yeah yeah, that much I know. Come on, out with it, woman.” Dean’s tone makes it clear that he already wants this conversation over and done with. “Last I seem to remember is the round of shots we grabbed at the bar and then Charlie laughing way too hard at the story of Cas starting my kitchen on fire.” 

“Not actually a fire,” Castiel argues with feeble conviction. “And if you must know, Charlie wasn’t laughing at the non-fire, she was laughing when you told everyone what apron I was wearing.  _ Your  _ apron, by the way.” 

Castiel doesn’t remember much of the night either, but that tidbit he recalls quite clearly. He remembers the way Dean threw his head back and laughed as if he was the most carefree man in the world. He laughed loud and heartily until his eyes shined with the joy of it. Castiel remembers how he couldn’t stop staring. 

Dean chuckles despite himself. “Oh yeah.  _ That _ . Still funny, Cas. Still fucking funny.”

Donna glances between the two of them, a bright and delighted smile spread wide across her face. “So we’re still set on that weird shortened ‘Casper’ nickname are we?” She looks at Dean and he glares back at her. “Alright. Just checking,” she finishes, her hands in the air in mock surrender.

At Dean’s insistence, she continues on and gives them both a recap of the rest of the evening which was mostly uneventful in terms of drama and gossip. Apparently, there was a lot of playful bickering and the retelling of stories from high school over a few rounds of pool that somehow managed to turn into a drinking game. Dean nods along and doesn’t seem surprised by any of it, so Castiel doesn’t question it either. Benny joined them as much as he could and, of course, they drank way too many shots.

They find out that Benny drove Charlie home but since Donna lives further out of town it was agreed that she would crash at Dean’s for the night. The three of them walked home together. 

“So that’s that. You didn’t miss much,” Donna concludes. 

“Okay. That all checks out, but ummm…” Dean flicks his eyes towards Castiel, “...how did we end up in the bed and you on the couch?” 

Donna laughs. “Oh that was an ordeal all in itself! Steve here tried to take the couch, but then you, the genius that you are, insisted that you would sleep on it. You two knuckleheads practically wrestled for it after that.”

“Why would we do that?” Castiel asks, taking a sip of coffee and still trying to sort out the details in his mind. 

“Tryin’ to be chivalrous I think, but lord only knows. You two had stopped making sense hours before that, so I couldn’t even tell ya. But while you two were playing argumentative footsie, I grabbed a blanket and made myself comfortable and told you both to leave me alone so I could sleep. You headed into the bedroom and I didn’t hear a peep out of you until breakfast. Passed right out, ya lightweights.” 

Dean rolls his eyes but accepts her explanation, getting up to pour himself a second cup of coffee. When Castiel watches him, he catches a glance of the clock on the microwave. 

“Dean? Did you call in sick to work today?” 

“I don’t work today, it’s Sun—- oh fuck. It’s Monday, isn’t it? Shit shit shit. I gotta go or Bobby’s gonna kill me.”

“You better get your ass in gear. Go, I’ll clean up,” Donna tells him. 

Dean races back to his bedroom to grab some work clothes and then slams the bathroom door for a quick shower. Castiel and Donna barely have a moment to collect themselves by the time he’s out of the shower and grabbing his phone and keys. 

“Sorry to run. Thanks for breakfast, Donna. I’m really glad you came out with us.” He gives her a quick kiss on top of her head. Before he turns towards the door, he also gives Castiel’s shoulder a firm squeeze. “I’ll come back here at lunch. You’ll be here, yeah?” 

Castiel doesn’t know why a shiver races up his spine, but he looks up at Dean and nods.

Dean turns once more to Donna. “Come say goodbye before you go. Bobby would love to see you.” 

“Not if he thinks I helped make you late, now shoo!” 

Once Dean is gone, Castiel and Donna enjoy another cup of coffee before she also needs to leave. She still has to pick up her car and drive out to Bagyo to open up her shop. He thanks her for breakfast, apologizes for his general drunkenness, and refuses to let her clean up the kitchen, promising that he’ll take care of it after a shower. 

They make one more pot of coffee and she grabs a travel mug out of the cupboard and fills it for Dean, telling Castiel that she’ll drop it off at the shop for him on her way out. 

She stops and gives Castiel a tight hug before she goes. “You know, it’s really too bad you have to leave. You fit in well around here.” Before Castiel can wrap his head around her words, she pats him on the cheek and she’s out the door, headed straight for the hole in the tire wall. 

It doesn’t escape Castiel’s notice just how well she knows her way around this place. 

Feeling better but still woozy, Castiel decides to take a shower sooner rather than later. He turns on the water and undresses. Before the mirror steams over, he takes a long, hard, look at himself. 

His face and arms are a shade darker since he first arrived, tan from the time spent out in the sun with Dean, working on his truck. His upper arms are more defined, toned from all the work he’s been doing at the bar, moving kegs and stacking crates. Running a slow hand across his stomach, he notices he’s a little thicker there, too. A few weeks ago, Castiel was too thin, his stomach hollow and in need of nutrition. And now? Now he’s well fed and hydrated and healthier in a way that is obvious in the reflection looking back at him. 

He owes all that to Dean - a man who’s about to become someone that Castiel refers to in the past tense. 

An overwhelming wave of nausea threatens to double him over, so he tears his eyes away from the mirror and steps into the shower, desperately hoping the hot spray will calm his nerves. He places his palms against the tile, letting his head hang between his shoulders as he breathes deeply, focusing on the steady rhythm of his exhales. 

As he calms himself, the foggy veil of intoxication begins to lift, revealing pieces of his memory from the previous day, each one a new wave trying to pull him under. He remembers the hours on end he spent with Ellen, briefly going through her books from the past five years, organizing them with the intention of finding out why her business is failing. He remembers the look on her face when Castiel confirmed her fears; that The Roadhouse won’t make it through another year if things don’t get sorted. 

He remembers her asking him to stay in town. She offered to pay him to help, but Castiel couldn’t tell her yes. He’d already prepared himself to leave and convinced himself he needed to, for everyone’s sake, but then he left Ellen’s office only to find Dean sitting at a booth across the bar. He remembers the way Dean smiled at him when their eyes met and the way it made his heart soar. He very nearly marched right back up those stairs and told Ellen he would stay, but he didn’t allow himself to act so rashly.

Ever since the day he met Dean Winchester, Castiel’s mind has been at odds with his heart. 

Knees giving out from under him, Castiel crumples to the shower floor. Everything is so conflicting. He needs to leave but what will happen if Ellen doesn't get proper help? What will happen to her family? He’s more than qualified to handle Ellen’s finances, but if he stays, what does that mean for him? For Dean? Ellen confessed to him that no one knows about her situation with The Roadhouse and he was sworn to secrecy, so it’s not like he can ask for advice or discuss his decision. He’s alone in this. 

Castiel feels he’s going to be sick for the hundredth time this morning. He hugs his knees to his chest and rocks himself until he’s sure his breakfast is going to stay down. He closes his eyes and lets the water’s soothing massage comfort him, but when he adjusts his position and crosses his arms to grip his own shoulders, he gasps, frozen by another memory come to light. 

_ Dean’s hands on his shoulders.  _

They were walking home. Donna was several feet ahead and Castiel and Dean were taking longer to move themselves along. They kept stopping to laugh, leaning on each other for stability. Castiel remembers putting his arm around Dean, convinced that not only was he the most sober of the three of them but that he was also somehow helping Dean walk. Then, when Donna turned the corner towards the house, Dean stopped them. Turning to face him, Dean firmly gripped Castiel’s upper arms. 

“Cassswhatthefuck. Yer really fuckin’ strong. Y’know that? Yer arms are like, super nice.” Dean slurred his words through a lopsided grin, his fingers flexing around Castiel’s arms.

“C’mon Dean. We lost Donna. We gotta follow Donna. She’s the leader. She knows where we live.” He was very concerned that they would get lost somewhere along that final block.

“Nononono. Wait a’sec. M’serious. Yer really nice, Cas. Nice arms. Nice roommate. And a nice face. You ‘ave a nice face, Cas. I really like it.” 

Green eyes looked back at him then and even through their drunken stupor, it had felt like Dean was looking into his soul, that he somehow saw Castiel more clearly than anyone else had ever bothered trying, and it felt like maybe Dean actually liked what he saw. And then... 

Dean leaned in slowly, purposefully. Castiel’s heart leapt into his throat as he carefully mirrored the movement, but just as Donna shouted at them from around the corner, Dean stumbled forward and the moment was lost. Unfinished and forgotten.

Of course, it probably wasn’t that at all. The memory is more likely to be some concoction of circumstances that Castiel arranged in his mind to fit a romanticised narrative. It can’t be trusted. They were drunk and unsteady and ridiculous. 

Shaking and weak, Castiel angrily wipes at the stinging in his eyes and forces himself to stand again. He’s got laundry to do since he’s going to be leaving tomorrow. When he gets to Los Angeles, he’ll do some research and find an accountant in the San Seton area that specializes in small business finance to help Ellen. 

The rest of the morning passes slowly and Castiel does his best to clear his mind and think about anything other than the next twenty-four hours. He tosses a load of laundry into the wash and cleans the kitchen, moving at an infuriatingly lethargic pace. He makes himself drink more water and hopes that Dean is doing the same. Castiel then moves the wet clothes into the dryer and goes into Dean’s room to make the bed. Dean usually makes it every morning but since he didn’t have time this morning and Castiel slept in it last night, it only seems fair. 

With his list of chores mostly done, Castiel succumbs to the weakness of his limbs and the soreness in his muscles, allowing himself to sit on the edge of the bed. He forgot how utterly miserable a decent hangover can be and swears to the empty room that he’ll never drink again. Leaning forward to rest his head in his hands, he feels his eyelids grow heavy with exhaustion and self pity. He just needs to lay back and close his eyes for a second. It will only take a minute...

Two hours later, that’s exactly where Dean finds him. 

“Cas? Hey buddy, you okay?” 

Castiel is gently nudged awake to the sight of Dean standing over him. 

“What happened?” he asks as he sits up, still groggy but already feeling significantly better than this morning. 

“Wow, dude. You sleep in my bed one time and you’re already back for more? Can’t say I’m surprised,” Dean teases. 

Castiel feels his face flush. He can’t have one day without making an idiot of himself, can he? “I— I’m sorry. I made the bed and I must’ve fallen asleep. I didn’t mean—” 

“Cas, relax. It’s fine. I’m jealous, actually. I could use a nap.” Dean yawns and takes off his work shirt, switching it out for one of the soft v-necks that he uses for pajamas. He doesn’ act shy or ask Castiel to leave, so Castiel stays frozen in place, watching him. 

“Why are you changing? Aren’t you just back for lunch?” He worries for a moment that he’s slept through the entire day but one glance at Dean’s alarm clock on the nightstand confirms that it’s only mid-afternoon.

“Bobby sent me home. Says I’m a liability. Says I’m going to scare off the customers or end up passing out inside a car engine. Either way, he told me to scram and I didn’t argue. Gonna pay for it tomorrow, though.” Dean takes off his pants and socks next, revealing his bow-legs and black briefs, swapping the jeans out for a pair of flannel pajama pants. 

Castiel can’t help but to stare. Dean’s never seemed like the shy type but he’s also been so considerate, always changing in his bedroom or the bathroom, no doubt taking his cue from Castiel, who admittedly comes off as shy, probably excessively so. 

Suddenly he wishes that they hadn’t been so modest with one another - he would’ve liked to have seen more of Dean and his beautiful body. Even Dean’s bare feet are something to appreciate, especially when they look like they're drowning in the little pool of fabric from his long flannel bottoms. He looks soft and comfortable and adorable, yet somehow still incredibly sexy. 

It’s not fair. 

“Was he upset with you?” Castiel asks, seeking to distract himself. 

“You know Bobby, he was grumpy as hell, but Donna made sure to butter him up when she stopped by the shop on her way out. She even bought him a bagel from the cafe down the street and dropped it off after she picked up her car. Told him not to blame me for the fact that she can drink me under the table and that I’m too much of a lightweight to keep up.”

“She really said that?” Castiel says through a chuckle. He likes Donna. 

“Damn right she did, and not many people could, but Bobby’s always had a soft spot for her. He was thrilled to see her again. Well, as thrilled as Bobby can get anyway.”

Castiel looks down at his own feet, a quiet melancholy taking over. Dean really is surrounded by the best people. Bobby and Ellen love him, anyone can see that, and Benny and Charlie are awesome. There’s also his brother Sam, who isn’t around but who Dean’s often texting or talking to on the phone. And then there’s Donna. It’s obvious Dean and Donna care a great deal for each other and Dean’s told him before that they’re not ex’s, so Castiel doesn’t understand why it seems like they’ve been apart for awhile. 

Curiosity gets the better of him. 

“Why don’t you two hang out more?” he blurts out. Dean looks at him, caught off guard by the question. “I just mean… well, when we went to get taffy, she said she hadn’t seen you in a long time, and then Charlie told me last night that you two used to be best friends, so I was just wondering.” 

“Charlie blabbed, did she?” Dean says, revealing a small smile behind his mild annoyance.

“You and I weren’t the only ones getting drunk last night,” he smirks, trying to keep the conversation light. “Besides, I was with Charlie while you and Donna were at the bar and we saw you two talking. Whatever it was about, it looked serious.”

Dean sighs and sits next to Castiel on the edge of the bed, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Donna and I were—  _ are  _ best friends. She’s incredible and has always been there for me. Then, a few years ago, I made some bad decisions that ultimately led to more bad decisions.” He stops for a moment and steadies himself, keeping his eyes trained on his fidgeting hands. “I treated her like shit. I’m talking grade-A asshole level, and she didn’t deserve an ounce of it.” He takes another breath and shakes his head, ashamed of the memory. “I thought she’d never forgive me after that and was convinced she’d hate me forever.” 

Castiel places a hand softly on Dean’s shoulder in an attempt to provide comfort. “I don’t think you give yourself enough credit,” he says quietly. 

“You weren’t there, Cas. I was so goddamn terrible. I’m not that person anymore but—” Dean shrugs and doesn’t complete the sentence. “We eventually patched things up, sort of. I tried to make amends and she swore she forgave me, but I’ve kept my distance from her ever since. Why would she want me after that, ya know?”

“Well, you said you’ve changed, right? I’m sure she knows that. And you’ve been friends since you were little, so I would venture to guess that she sees in you exactly what I do - a selfless, hardworking man who cares deeply about the people he loves.” Dean scoffs at Castiel’s words. “I’m serious, Dean. You’re an amazing man with a big heart. Everyone makes mistakes and if Donna has forgiven you for whatever happened, then maybe it’s time for you to forgive yourself.” 

Dean looks up at Castiel, his eyes full of emotion. “I… never really thought about it like that.” 

“Do me a favor and try? Because from where I’m standing, you deserve every ounce of happiness that comes your way, Dean. And if that means getting your best friend back, well then stop standing in your own way.” 

Castiel holds his gaze as Dean’s eyes begin to water, and Castiel hopes that he hasn’t overstepped his boundaries. What he said wasn’t wrong but perhaps it wasn’t his place. 

Dean opens his mouth to say something and Castiel is afraid to exhale, not knowing if the nerve he clearly hit is coiled and ready to snap, or weighted and about to crumble. The energy in the room is charged, neither one of them breaking the stare.

Then, with an abrupt interruption, Dean’t phone rings from atop the dresser. 

“I should get that,” he says, his body taking several more seconds to obey. 

Castiel nods and leaves the room, closing the door behind him to give Dean his privacy. 

Needing a way to busy himself, Castiel goes about the house looking for something else to clean. He’s giving the bathroom a once-over when Dean takes his call outside. He eventually remembers the clothes in the dryer and moves the clean load to the couch for folding. As he’s working through the laundry piece by piece, sorting what’s his and what’s Dean’s, he looks up to see Dean pacing across the small patch of grass in front of the house along the tire wall, still barefoot and pajama clad. Castiel can’t hear the conversation, but Dean is animated and using his free hand to help him speak. 

Dean’s cute when he paces... and when he’s in pajamas… and when he’s hungover... and when he talks with his hands… and pretty much  _ always _ . 

Castiel wonders if Dean will miss him as much as he’ll miss Dean, but his throat restricts when he thinks of the answer. Dean has so many wonderful people in his life who will easily fill the space of Castiel when he’s gone, like he was never there at all. Dean won’t be left with an emptiness in the way that Castiel will, partly because he can’t give to Dean what Dean has already given to him. It’s an uneven and unfair friendship, so Castiel just keeps folding laundry, an act of requital that won’t even begin to tip the scales to balance. 

As though it were some heavenly reflection of his inner turmoil, thick storm clouds have rolled in and blanketed everything in diluted sunlight. The temperature is a drastic drop from the previous few days and Dean crosses his arms against the cold, so Castiel puts on another pot of coffee. They could both use it. 

When Dean ends his call and comes back inside a short while later, Castiel hands him a mug and they sit together on the couch discussing plans for the next morning. Dean has offered to drive him to the bus station where he’ll catch an early bus to the nearest train station and begin his day-long journey. He had tried to refuse the early morning ride, but Dean insisted. They go over a checklist of Castiel’s things, including the additional few that he’s acquired during his time here, and for some odd reason, Dean asks about his glasses several times. He doesn’t know why they’re such a point of concern; he only ever uses them if he plans to read for hours at a time or is sitting at a computer screen. Either way, he triple-checks that he has them, for Dean’s sake. 

Once the list has been reviewed and Castiel’s backpack is nearly ready for his departure in the morning, there’s a lull between them. Dean breaks it first, as usual. 

“Listen, Cas. I know we talked about maybe heading to Bagyo again before you left and Charlie recommended that great restaurant out there, but would you hate me if I asked that we stay here instead? I don’t know about you, but I’m still feeling crummy and I just don’t think I could easily handle the drive. I also think another storm’s coming in shortly.”

“I could never hate you, Dean,” he answers honestly. “And I’m perfectly content staying here.”

“Yeah? I can order us dinner. How about pizza?” Dean asks, looking relieved. 

Castiel smiles at the chance to spend one last evening with Dean, just the two of them. “I’d like that very much.” 

“Awesome. And hey, when you get settled in Los Angeles, you’ll have to give me your address and I promise I’ll send you some of Donna’s taffy.” 

The way Castiel’s heart swells at the very thought that Dean might want to keep in touch after he leaves has him excusing himself to the bathroom just for the chance to hide his face and slow his heart. 

They order the pizza early when Dean argues that they can eat the leftovers later in the evening if they get hungry again. Then they pick out a movie,  _ Ferris Bueller’s Day Off _ , and settle on the couch a respectable distance apart, as always.

They’ve polished off over half the pizza and rain has started to pelt the windows when Dean sits up and presses pause without warning. Castiel looks at him and Dean takes a moment to meet his eyes, but when he does, they’re wide and expectant. 

“You don’t have to leave tomorrow, you know that, right?” 

_ What? _

Of all the things Castiel was expecting him to say, that wasn’t one of them. “Dean, I—”

“I know you’ve got a plan and I know you want to get to LA, but are you really in that big of a hurry? I mean, it couldn’t hurt to line your pockets with a little more cash, right? Because I think you might be underestimating how much everything will cost, and I know Ellen wouldn’t mind having you around.” The words tumble out like he’s been keeping them bottled since the start of the movie. Once he catches a breath, he continues. “And did you even factor in transportation? You’ll need to get around and you don’t have a car, so that means public transit or taxis or Ubers. That all costs more money. And what about a phone, Cas? You can’t go on job interviews and roam a big city without a phone.”

Dean fidgets with his hands and his shoulders rise and fall in time with his breathing. He wipes his hands on the tops of his thighs and then rubs at the back of his neck. Castiel even thinks he detects a light flush across his cheeks. 

Meanwhile, Castiel’s heart beats wildly behind his chest. He thought for sure Dean was ready to watch him leave. It’s not that he’s ever said an unkind word, but surely he must want his apartment back, to get rid of the couch-hogging interloper?

“I don’t— Dean—” He doesn’t know where to begin, a thousand different thoughts and emotions scrambling to be heard the loudest. 

“No obligations,” Dean continues. “I’m not asking anything of you or expecting anything from you. I want you to understand that. It’s just… everyone here likes you and I’d hate to think of you all alone in some big city. You can’t end up sleeping under an overpass somewhere again, okay? You just can’t.” 

There’s a pleading look in Dean’s eyes and Castiel’s brain goes from spinning out of control to perfectly still. The man he’s come to care for over the past few weeks, the man who basically saved his life and offered kindness when Castiel thought there was none, that man is sitting in front of him with an invitation that Castiel didn’t dare think plausible. Dean’s asking him to stay without condition or contract. He’s just… asking. 

“Okay,” Castiel says, his heart forcing out the answer before his brain has a chance to counter.

Dean stares at him for several long seconds, searching for something but Castiel doesn’t know what. “Okay as in, you’ll stay?” 

“Yes, I’ll stay.” The words roll off his tongue, warm and honeyed.

Dean’s eyes light up in the dim room. “Awesome, Cas. That’s awesome.” He smiles brightly, his lips quickly quirking into a cheeky grin . “Thank fuck. Now I don’t have to wake up at the asscrack of dawn tomorrow morning.”

Castiel’s jaw drops open and he grabs the nearest pillow, swinging it forward and smacking Dean in the face with it. Dean’s resounding laugh is melodic and sweet as he jumps up to put the rest of the pizza in the fridge, returning with glasses of water. 

As they get comfortable again to finish the movie and before he presses play, Dean repositions himself and lays across the cushions with his head near Castiel’s lap and feet propped up on the arm of the couch. A few minutes later, while feeling serenely content and without thinking, Castiel reaches down and brushes a few fingers through Dean’s fluffy hair. 

When he realizes what he’s done, he inhales sharply and freezes at the same time that Dean grabs his wrist, holding it in place. “Keep doing that. It feels nice.”

And just like that, everything is different. 

***

The following morning the storm is still raging outside. Castiel is already awake and making them a pot of coffee when Dean emerges from his bedroom to get ready for work. He mentioned last night that he intended to get an early start to make up for Bobby sending him home yesterday.

Their eyes meet and Dean mimics Castiel’s smile. 

“I’m glad you’re still here. A small part of me wondered if you were going to try and sneak off at some ungodly hour,” Dean says with a hint of sarcasm. 

“It’s raining and I tried traveling by foot during a storm once before.”

“Yeah? How’d that work out for you?”

“Some pushy asshole bought me clam chowder before he kidnapped me. Pretty sure I came down with Stockholm Syndrome because I never reported him, but I really wouldn’t want to live through that again.” He tries to keep the grin from his face while Dean throws his head back and laughs. 

“A few weeks with me and you’ve become a sassy little shit. You better be careful, there’s no turning back once you fall to the dark side.” Dean winks at him before he closes himself in the bathroom. 

Castiel feels so light that he’s pretty sure most of the gravity has left the room. 

After Dean leaves, Castiel’s first thought is of Ellen. He needs to visit The Roadhouse and ask her if she’ll keep employing him, but it’s too early and she won’t be there yet. While he waits, he pours himself a cup of coffee and grabs his book and reading glasses. He’s going to enjoy these few hours of solace and contentment because in this moment, he feels truly and utterly at ease. 

_ Dean asked him to stay. He doesn’t have to start his life over again just yet. _

He hadn’t realized how crushingly heavy the dread was that was resting on his shoulders until Dean came along and took it all away. 

***

Ellen is so thrilled when Castiel unexpectedly walks into The Roadhouse and tells her what’s happened that she gives him a tight hug, squeezing for several seconds. They then discuss his schedule, which will mostly involve him acting as a financial analyst and advisor but will also include working behind the bar when it’s needed. Castiel is more than happy to agree. 

It doesn’t take long for news to circulare that Castiel is staying in town. When they find out, Charlie demands that they have lunch together as soon as possible, Donna shrieks so loudly over the phone with Dean that Castiel can hear her excitement from across the living room, and Benny presents him with a new bartender’s apron so he doesn’t have to keep wearing Benny’s old one. 

Castiel is taken aback by the enthusiastic responses and even after a few days pass, he’s still just as humbled by the welcome reception, but there’s one issue that he’s been waiting to address. On Friday, he asks Dean to meet him for lunch at the deli next to Singer Auto. 

They order sandwiches at the counter and Castiel knows that both of them have to get back to work before long, so he jumps right to it.

“Dean, when you asked me to stay, how long were you anticipating?” 

Dean looks up, confusion pinching his eyebrows. “It’s not like I’m giving you an expiration date or something. You can leave tomorrow or stay here for forever. When, where, and how you choose to move on is not up to me. You do realize that, don’t you?” 

“Of course. But what I’m getting at right now is the  _ ‘where’  _ part.”

“What do you mean?”

“If I’m going to stay in town for awhile, I can’t keep crashing on your couch, so I was going to look for an apartment.”

The truth is, Castiel could stay on Dean’s couch for months on end and be perfectly happy, but he’s a grown man and should have his own place, and the same goes for Dean. It’s not fair to him that Castiel continues to invade his space.

“Oh. Right, yeah. That makes sense.” Dean says, suddenly interested in the menu board above the counter even though they’ve already ordered. 

“I was hoping you might have some suggestions? For apartments in town? I don’t need anything fancy, just somewhere affordable, and preferably with good water pressure.” The last stipulation was meant as a joke, but he really has been spoiled by the water pressure in Dean’s shower. 

Their names are called and Dean walks up to grab their sandwiches. 

“Why don’t we talk more about this when we both get back tonight, yeah? I’ll try and think of some options.” He hands Castiel his sandwich and explains that he needs to get back to work, so instead of eating at one of the small tables outside, they take their food to go. 

When Castiel arrives back at the house after work later that night, he walks in to find Dean standing in the kitchen, sweaty and chugging a glass of water. 

“Are you alright?” Castiel asks. 

“I was thinking about what you said earlier and I have an idea.”

“You already researched apartments? That was fast.” Castiel was just looking for suggestions, not for Dean to do all the work for him. 

“Not exactly. Come look.” Dean gestures for Castiel to follow him from the kitchen and to the spare bedroom. The door is usually kept closed but Dean has it propped open and Castiel follows him into the room. It smells of cardboard and dust and there are boxes scattered everywhere. 

“What’s all this?” Castiel asks. 

“You’re new apartment… sort of.” Castiel doesn’t understand and looks to Dean for more of an explanation. “Look, I realize you can’t just keep sleeping on my couch, and if you really want to look for your own apartment, I’ll help you. But this is an alternative option. I can clean out this bedroom and you can move in right here. There’s a dresser and even a bed here under all this junk. The frame is good but the mattress is shit, so we’d have to get you a new one of those and maybe a new coat of paint on the walls, but other than that, the room is yours if you want it.” 

“Really? Dean you don’t have to do this,” he says, looking around the room long enough to realize that Dean’s already started going through boxes. There’s even one box in the corner, empty but with the word “DONATE” scribbled onto the side. When his eyes meet Dean’s, they’re wide and eager. 

“I’m offering, Cas. We’re basically roommates already anyway and it doesn’t suck living with you, so I figured, why not?” Dean shrugs, a smile cracking at the side of his mouth. 

“If you’re sure about this and I move in here, then I’m going to start paying you rent.”

“We can talk about all that later. What do you say?” 

“I say tell me what you need me to do to help.” Castiel is unable to keep a smile from spreading across his face. 

He’s had to stop wondering when he’ll discover the true depth of Dean’s kindness, because it appears to be bottomless. 

***

Over the next week, the two of them clear out the spare bedroom which, much to Castiel’s giddy delight, Dean immediately begins referring to as _Cas’s_ _room_. Dean initially wanted to shove everything into the shed on the other side of the tire wall and be done with it, but at Castiel’s encouragement and his insistence that he’s fine staying on the couch a bit longer, Dean agrees it’s a better idea to go through the boxes one by one and actually sort through everything. 

It’s a slower process than either of them anticipated, mostly because very few of the boxes actually belong to Dean. It turns out that Sam, Bobby, and even Ellen have used the room as a storage space at some point, and with each box they have to figure out who it belongs to and then whether the contents are to be thrown away, donated, stored in the shed, or picked up by the owner. 

Several 6-packs, about a hundred phone calls to Dean’s family, and two trips to the donation center at the local homeless shelter later, Castiel and Dean are finally ready to move the remaining boxes to the shed. 

When Dean unlocks it for the first time and Castiel gets a look inside, he’s astonished at what he sees. 

“What is all this?” he asks Dean, his eyes shifting over what appears to be a small makeshift woodshop. Several pieces of unfinished furniture line the back wall. 

“Just a silly hobby. Tried my hand at woodworking in high school and Bobby let me have the shed to work out of, but don’t worry, we can just push everything to the side to make room for the boxes.” Dean says it casually, as though his hobby is as mundane as memorizing the dictionary. 

“Dean, this is incredible work.” He’s looking at the leg of a chair that was left abandoned on the workbench and runs his fingers over the intricate carving, admiring the detail.

“It’s nothing, really. Haven’t worked on this stuff in years. Come on, help me with the boxes.” 

Castiel is reluctant to let the shed turn into another storage space but there’s not much he can do about it at the moment, so he helps stack the boxes along the side wall. 

“The coffee table and the barstools in your house, did you make those?” he asks, not willing to stray from the subject just yet. 

“Yeah. Making them myself was cheaper and better quality than anything I was going to find in some department store.”

“But you don’t woodwork anymore? How come?”

“Jeeze, Cas. What’s with the twenty questions? Like I said, it was just a stupid hobby. This stuff isn’t even that great. Now let’s go get a beer. We earned it.” Dean takes off towards the house, effectively ending the conversation.

Yesterday, Dean went with Castiel to purchase a mattress and new sheets, and tonight, Castiel sleeps in his very own room. 

That weekend, they apply a fresh coat of paint to the walls and Castiel begins paying Dean rent. 

During the weeks that follow, Castiel settles into his new room and his new routine with ease. Much to Dean (and Ellen’s) relief, he finally gets his own cell phone and even opens up a new bank account.

Little by little, Castiel makes himself at home. He feels like he’s got a permanent smile plastered on his face that makes him wonder if he’s going to give himself premature wrinkles around his eyes, but who cares because he’s  _ happy _ . This town and the people in it keep chipping away at the walls he’s built up around himself, treating him like he belongs here, and he’s beginning to believe that maybe it’s true. 

Right now, he’s got everything he was hoping to find in Los Angeles: a house to live in, a perfect roommate, and a job he enjoys. He’s even got friends. For a while he would only refer to people like Donna as  _ Dean’s  _ friends, but Charlie was the first one to correct him on it.

“We’re your friends too, ya know. When are you going to accept that?” she’d said to him one afternoon at the library. 

Castiel had just finished an hour-long session in one of the piano rooms and Charlie asked if he was going to be at Sam’s welcome back dinner. Dean had already asked him to be there, of course, but Castiel felt awkward. He would know everyone in attendance… everyone except for Sam. Castiel told Charlie as much and she scoffed at his hesitation, telling him that he was going to meet Sam one way or another and that he needed to start realizing that he was “one of them” now. 

Dean made the same argument the following day, and neither Dean nor Charlie will ever know that Castiel fell asleep that night feeling more accepted than he ever had by his own family. 

As the time comes closer for Sam to come home from college for spring break, Dean becomes visibly anxious. Castiel thinks it’s a mix of excitement and anticipation, but whatever it is, it’s got Dean buzzing. He and Ellen make all the arrangements to have a dinner party on the Tuesday Sam arrives in town. It will be hosted at The Roadhouse and Ellen is going to close the bar early so that only friends and family will be in attendance. 

Castiel’s excited to finally meet Sam Winchester. He’s seen pictures of Dean’s not-so-little brother and he’s even said hello to him over speakerphone a time or two, but the more Dean prepares for Sam to arrive, the more he can’t seem to stop talking about him. It’s precious and sweet to witness, but the anticipation has Castiel feeling anxious. It’s a silly thing to think about, but he really wants to make a good impression on Sam. He’s the man sharing a roof with Dean, afterall. 

Do brothers usually care about that kind of thing? His own brothers never did, but Castiel’s family isn’t really one to uphold as an example of normalcy. He just really wants Sam to like him.

The evening before Sam is supposed to arrive, Dean meets Castiel after work to have a beer at the bar. He pokes his head in Ellen’s office and as Castiel is putting all the books and notes away for the day, Dean finalizes a few dinner details with her. Once they’re both done, they walk back downstairs together to say hello to Benny and Ash and then relax in what’s come to be their favorite booth. 

Dean’s asked a few times what Castiel does all day for Ellen since he’s working out of her office instead of out on the floor with Benny, and neither Ellen or Castiel want to lie, so they’ve told him that with Castiel’s financial background, he’s been helping her with budgeting and taxes. Luckily, Dean finds that boring, so he doesn’t pry much. If he suspects anything is wrong, he hasn’t said it.

They’re just finishing up their first beer when Dean gets a call on his cell phone. He looks at the screen and ignores it but a voicemail notification and a string of text messages follow soon after. Dean doesn’t say what they’re about or who they’re from but it’s enough to distract him, causing his usual carefree smile to fade and his demeanor to turn fidgety and quiet. He tells Castiel he wants to go home but just as they’re about to leave, Ellen approaches the table and asks Castiel if he can take a quick look at one more document before he leaves. 

Castiel glances at Dean and Dean nods, silently acknowledging that Castiel will meet him at the house later. Dean gives Ellen a quick hug and is out the door without even saying goodbye to Benny or Ash.

Watching Dean leave to walk home alone doesn’t sit quite right. Something’s off and Castiel wants to follow after him to make sure everything’s okay, but Ellen doesn’t seem to notice that anything is amiss and has already disappeared back down the side hallway, so Castiel follows after her. 

He’s answering more of Ellen’s questions and taking a look at one of her budget sheets when her phone goes off as well. She steps out of the office to take the call and when she steps back in, her mood has shifted. 

“That’ll be it for tonight, Steve. We can pick this back up tomorrow,” she tells him as she takes the paperwork out of his hand.

“You sure? I can just—” 

“You need to head home.” She sounds concerned now and a lump begins to form at the back of his throat. 

“Ellen, is everything okay?” 

“Just get back to the house. Dean— he might need a friend tonight, is all. It’s not my place to say more than that. Now, go on. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Castiel doesn’t need to be told twice. He grabs his keys and his phone and walks back to the house, a sense of urgency quickening his pace.

When he opens the front door, Dean is sitting on the couch. He’s slumped forward with his elbows propped on his knees and his head in his hands, a beer dangling from one of them. A bottle of Jack Daniels also sits on the coffee table, opened. 

“Dean? Are you alright?” he asks, his worry kicking up several notches. 

“Fine.” Dean grunts, the single word carrying the weight of everything he’s not saying. 

Ellen’s words ring in his head and he swallows back the urge to ask Dean for a better answer. Instead, he kicks off his shoes and walks to the kitchen to grab two shot glasses. He feels Dean’s eyes track his movements as he goes. He sets the shot glasses down in front of them and sits next to Dean on the couch. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong, but I do know that I’m not letting you drink alone. I’m also not letting you get trashed either.” Dean blinks at him. “It’s only Monday and Sam’s coming home tomorrow.” 

Dean looks back at Castiel for a few seconds but doesn’t say anything. Figuring that’s as good of an agreement as he’s going to get, Castiel grabs the remote and switches on a rerun of  _ Dr. Sexy. _ Dean quirks an interested eyebrow and then picks up the bottle of Jack and pours their shots. They clink their glasses together as if by habit and that’s how they spend their evening. 

Castiel goes to bed with a warm buzz and even though Dean is definitely worse for wear (he was totally sneaking extra shots whenever Castiel went to the bathroom, he just knows it), he’s not plastered drunk and shouldn’t have any issue waking up in the morning. Even so, Castiel hands him a glass of water before they part ways to their own bedrooms. He also makes sure the bottle of Jack is “accidentally” put in the back of the wrong cabinet, just in case. 

He’s fallen into a deep sleep when something he can’t quite identify startles him awake. Assuming it was just a car driving by or a dog barking in the distance, Castiel rolls over and pulls the bedding up to his chin. As he’s slipping back into unconsciousness, he’s yanked right back out of it again.

A second later and Castiel is tumbling out of bed to another of Dean’s shouts coming from the other room.


	9. Chapter 9

_ He can’t… *gasp*… he needs to… *gasp*… if he can just… *gasp*.  _

_ There’s a hand at his back and his face is being pushed into the earth beneath him as he struggles. He’s kicking and flailing against the weight on top of him but he just… can’t… get… up.  _

_ He needs to get free. Why can’t he get free?  _

_ Suddenly, the weight on top of him stills and he manages to scramble out from underneath it. He twists onto his back to look up. Fear seizes the breath from his lungs.  _

_ The world is dark, except for a pair of glowing yellow eyes.  _

_ From somewhere behind the eyes, a voice emerges, wicked and vile.  _

_ “You’re a failure, Dean. You’ll never escape and you’ll never be happy” _

_ Throat raw, he shouts back, but the words are lost, swallowed by the black void. He tries to get up and run but he can’t. Hands reach out from the darkness and grab him by the shoulders. They shake him and he closes his own eyes so he doesn’t have to look at the yellow ones boring into him.  _

_ “Listen to me, Dean. Do you hear me? I’m right here. Dean… Dean…”  _

***

“Dean! Dean, can you hear me? Dean!”

The snarled, sinister voice morphs into something deep yet familiar. The words are laden with urgency instead of threat as Dean is being shaken from his nightmare, breathing heavily and sweat lining his brow.

For a moment, the planes of reality and his subconscious are blurred and he doesn’t know what’s real. He fights against the sheets twisted around his legs and grasps the hands holding him. 

He forces his eyes open and instead of yellow, he sees blue. Ocean blue, wide and worried. 

_ Cas _ . 

He looks frantically around the room, confused and still trying to find his bearings, still trying to escape the evil in the darkness. 

“It’s just me. It’s Cas,” Cas soothes, releasing his grip but not pulling back, keeping his hands close. “You’re in your own room. You were having a nightmare.”

Reality finally sets in and it’s like breathing fresh air for the first time in hours. His muscles relax and he lets his head drop back against the pillow. His heart rate slows, but he’s still shaking. 

Cas gently places a hovering hand on his forearm. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, m’okay.” Dean’s voice is horse and comes out sounding far more weak than he expected. 

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure what to do. You were screaming and you sounded so panicked. I couldn’t let you go on like that.” Cas takes a step back from the bed. Dean knows he should probably say something, but what? His brain is barely functioning as it is. “Well anyway, if you don’t need anything, I’ll go back to my room.” 

Cas twists to walk away but without any intentional thought, Dean reaches for his forearm, stopping him.

“Will you stay with me?” His voice is barely above a whisper and he manages just enough courage to meet Cas’s eyes. 

The answer doesn’t come quickly enough, so Dean releases his arm and turns onto his side, facing away from Cas and the bedroom door. He scoots himself towards the opposite edge of the bed, bringing his knees into his chest and scrunching into the fetal position. It was a stupid thing to ask. He never should’ve put that on Cas. He’ll deal with this nightmare like he has all the others; by curling into a ball and humming the first rock song he can think of until he’s calmed down enough to fall back asleep. It could take minutes, or hours, or not happen at all - it’s always a gamble with these things. 

The bed dips. 

Dean’s breath hitches as he feels Cas pull back the covers and climb in. Cas settles behind him, going still and not saying a word. Still facing away, Dean reaches back and searches for Cas’s arm. Finding it, he tugs it across his torso and pulls Cas in closer - he goes willingly. 

Cas shifts and adjusts until he’s comfortable, never removing his arm from around Dean’s waist. When they’re both settled, Dean clutches Cas’s hand and holds it to his chest. Their breaths fall in sync and Dean feels the panic that had been closing in around his throat dissipate. 

This is nice. It’s more than nice, it’s damn near perfect. 

He may regret this in the morning, but he can deal with the shame tomorrow, because tonight? Tonight he’s going to take comfort wherever he can get it, and if Cas is willing, then Dean isn’t going to allow himself to overthink it. He takes a slow breath and closes his eyes and he swears Cas squeezes him a little tighter.

He lets the comfort lull him back to sleep. This time, it’s dreamless.

***

Dean wakes in the early morning hours, calm and peaceful. The arm slung over his waist tells him that Cas slipping into the bed with him last night wasn’t part of his sleep induced nightmare. How could it be? Cas in bed with him is the furthest thing from a nightmare he can think of.

Little puffs of air keep a steady rhythm against the back of his neck and Dean’s unable to stop his lips from curving into a small smile. He carefully wiggles closer, selfishly stealing this moment for himself, steadfastly ignoring the fleeting nature of it.

Cas is still asleep and there’s really no need to wake him. In fact, it would be rude to disturb him, wouldn’t it? Dean’s the one that woke him up last night, so the least he can do is stay quiet and let Cas sleep. It’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make, and it’s not long before he drifts off again himself.

The next time he wakes, he doesn't feel Cas at his back. He reaches out his hand behind him to check and finds the space empty. He doesn’t appreciate the way his heart immediately drops with disappointment, but the sheets are still warm so Cas must’ve only just gotten up.

He lazily crawls out of bed and heads to the kitchen where he finds Cas making a pot of coffee. Cas’s ( _ Dean’s _ ) pajama pants sit dangerously low on his hips as he moves around the kitchen with ease. Ever since Cas officially moved in, there’s been a noticeable difference with the way he carries himself. He no longer acts like a  _ guest _ , all tightly wound and timid. Instead, he seems comfortable, like he’s making a home for himself. It kind of warms Dean’s heart, but he won’t say that out loud, of course. Instead, he’ll just enjoy the fact that there’s a very adorable sleep rumpled man in his kitchen making him coffee. 

Cas catches him standing there, lost in thought. When their eyes meet, Dean realizes that he has absolutely no idea what he’s supposed to say now that they’re both awake. They slept in bed together, not by drunken accident this time, and even though it was completely (and annoyingly) innocent, there’s still the matter that Dean  _ asked him _ to do it. 

His cheeks grow hot and his pulse quickens as the shame he knew would come builds in his veins and begins to course throughout his body. 

“Sleep well?” Cas asks. 

Dean clears his throat, hoping to sound casual. “I did… eventually. Uh, you?” 

Cas pulls down two mugs from the cupboard and sets them on the counter. “My sleep was never the concern.” His words are soft, far too soft for what Dean deserves. 

“Cas, listen. About last night… I’m sorry. I should never have asked you to—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Cas interrupts, saving Dean from having to spell out the reason behind his apology, thank god. He gestures for Dean to sit across from him at one of the barstools and goes about preparing their coffee. When he’s done, he places the mugs on the countertop and walks around to the other side of the bar, taking a seat next to Dean. 

They sit in silence for a few moments, savoring those first few delicious sips of caffeine. It’s still early but the sun is rising fast on the day. Dean wishes it would take its time. He’s not in the mood for being rushed. 

Cas’s voice breaks the quiet. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, looking up at Dean through long eyelashes. 

“Talk about what?” Even as he says it, Dean knows he sounds like a complete idiot for trying to play it off. 

“Come on, Dean. Don’t do that. I’m not here to judge.” There’s another long pause between them and when Cas speaks again, his voice comes out small. “I’ve noticed that you seem to have the worst nightmares when you go to bed upset. Would last night’s dream have anything to do with the messages you were receiving?”

Cas is too observant for his own good. Dean should’ve known that this shit wasn’t going to get past his notice. He wants to get up, to storm out. It’s what he would’ve done to just about anyone else. Hell, it’s what he  _ has _ done to everyone else. But there’s something about Cas, with that pleading look in his eyes, that makes him different somehow. Cas makes him want to  _ be _ different. 

Fuck it. 

“What do you want to know?” 

“Anything. Everything, if you’ll tell me.” 

And so Dean does. He tells Cas everything. 

He tells Cas about how moving to California after his parents’ deaths was as easy as pie for Sam, but how things weren’t the same for him. He resented just about everyone for a long time - his parents for leaving him, Bobby and Ellen for taking him away from his home, and even Sam for not hating it all as much as he did. He was an angry and often difficult child because of it.

Then, late in his senior year of high school, he began hanging out with a guy named Gordon and his crew of misfits. Dean knew they were bad news and everyone tried to warn him as much, but he just didn’t give a damn. It was around that time that Ellen started getting more insistent on having the Sunday family dinners, to try and help keep him out of trouble. It worked for a little while... and then it didn’t. 

Gordon stoked the flames of Dean’s deep-seeded anger and he became an insufferable asshole. As much as he doesn’t want to acknowledge it, this was also ultimately the reason that he mistreated Donna. She had tried so hard to get through to him, to make him see the dangerous path he was headed down, but he told her to shove it where the sun don’t shine - and that’s the “Rated G” version. When she took it upon herself to threaten Gordon directly and then Gordon humiliated Dean in front of half the school because of it, Dean laid into Donna with such cruelty that it still makes him cringe all these years later. She became the recipient of some of the most spiteful, vicious words that have ever left his mouth. His mother would’ve been ashamed.

All the while Dean tells his story, Cas sits next to him, listening attentively. Dean feels like there’s a spotlight on him, and with his throat gone dry, he takes another sip of his coffee. Cas does the same. 

Then he tells Cas about the night that changed everything. 

“One night, Gordon asked me to come with him and a friend to pick up some things from his uncle’s house. He had a vague story to explain why we were doing it and the whole thing didn’t sit right with me, but I went anyway. Before I knew it, blue and red lights were flashing and I was bent over the hood of a cop car getting cuffed. Alone.”

“They set you up?” The look of horror on Cas’s face is so genuine that Dean would almost think it was sweet if he wasn’t so busy feeling ashamed.

“They might as well have. Turned out that the house didn’t belong to anyone’s uncle. Gordon had been casing the place for weeks and he was using me to help with the burglary. When we entered, we tripped an alarm he didn’t know about. Gordon saw the police cars coming down the street and got the hell outta dodge with the other guy we were with, leaving me behind to take the fall.” 

“Dean, that’s awful. What happened after that?”

“I got arrested for breaking and entering. I sat in jail for two days before Bobby came and bailed me out. It probably woulda been longer if Ellen hadn’t thrown a fit - Sam told me that part.” 

Dean takes a long, intentional breath to collect himself before he continues. This is the lowest and most shameful point of his life. He’s worked so hard to put the past behind him and yet here he is, laying it all out for Cas and waiting for judgement. 

Time to get it over with. 

“My court date was set and when I went before the judge, he wanted to charge me with a felony and prison time. I was scared shitless. I have no idea how I let my life get to that point, ya know? Skipping class and being an all around dumbass is one thing, but prison? It was never meant to go that far.”

“Did… did you serve time?” 

Dean’s worried that Cas is about to bolt and he wouldn’t blame him one single bit, but Cas stays right where he is without so much as glancing at the door. 

“To this day I don’t know what exactly they did, but Jody and my lawyer saved my ass. They got the charge lowered to a misdemeanor. I had to pay a fine and was sentenced to three years probation with mandatory check-ins with a probation officer. I was also required to seek steady employment, so that’s when I started working for Bobby. He was helping me out but I also think he wanted to keep a close eye on me and I couldn’t blame him. That summer is when I helped clean the junkyard behind the shop, built the tire wall all myself, and moved into this house.”

In the short silence that follows, Dean really wishes he knew what Cas was thinking, but if he was expecting some big, outrageous reaction, he doesn’t get it. 

“You really turned your life around, Dean. I think that’s amazing, but may I ask what that has to do with those messages last night?” 

“Cas... I’m  _ still _ on probation.” Yet again he waits for a horrified reaction from Cas that never comes, so he continues. “The call last night was from my probation officer, Officer Barnes. A date has been set for my final hearing, the one where the judge will decide whether or not I’ve successfully completed my probationary period and met all of his requirements.”

“Are you concerned that you somehow haven’t?” 

“I’m absolutely confident that I have, but I’m also scared that he’ll find a way to screw me. The judge assigned to my case is a known hardass and I’m sure he has it out for me. I just— I just want this all to be over.” Dean swipes his hands down the front of his face. He can feel the panic rising in his throat. “Any time I get worked up about it, that’s usually when I have the worst of the nightmares.” 

“Did they ever catch Gordon?” 

“No, and I haven’t seen him since.”

“I see.”

Dean holds his breath and waits for Cas to react with anger or disgust or whatever the fuck must be going through his head right now. He twists his coffee mug in his hands and his skin feels prickly, fearful anticipation vibrating throughout his body. He should’ve told Cas all of this long ago. It should’ve been Cas’s choice whether or not he wanted to live with a goddamn criminal. 

A steady hand reaches out and rests on top of his shaking ones. Dean stills. When he looks up, there’s far less space between him and Cas than when they first sat down, and when he looks into Cas’s ocean blue eyes, they’re filled with a kindness so deep and sincere that for a fraction of a second, Dean forgets to feel miserable. 

“I’m here for whatever you need, Dean. And I won’t pretend to know how you feel or what you’ve gone through in your life, but I can’t possibly imagine any judge looking at you and not seeing what an incredible man you are.”

“You— you’re not upset? That I didn’t tell you this all before?” Dean needs to know. He needs to be sure.

“Dean, you picked me up off the street and gave me a home when I had none, and you’ve never given me a single reason not to trust you… you still haven’t.” 

Dean wants to look away, to hide from the praise that he doesn’t deserve, but he can’t take his eyes off of Cas. Whatever Cas sees in him, Dean wants to bottle it up and tuck it away because no one has ever looked at him the way Cas does, like he’s something to be admired, even after everything. 

As if by an invisible force, Dean finds himself gravitating towards Cas. He’s tried to fight against it so many times but his resolve has all but crumbled. The night they were walking home drunk from the bar, it nearly did. 

He hadn’t remembered that particular moment initially, but the memory crashed into him like a tidal wave after he’d gotten to Bobby’s shop the next morning. Even now he’ll never admit it, but the way he reeled from the recollection of that memory is what really got him sent home, not the hangover itself. He wasn’t able to concentrate worth a damn after he remembered because Dean’s sure that if he hadn’t lost his balance and stumbled, he would’ve made a move on Cas. It was dumb and he was drunk, except… except right now he’s stone cold sober and just as willing to play with fire.

Dean’s heart races and his brain is rapid-firing every reason it can think of to abort the movement, but every other part of him is tuned in and locked on. There’s electricity in the air and Dean can feel it charged in the way Cas’s hand twitches on top of his. He glances at Cas’s lips and Cas instinctually darts his tongue out to wet them, and god, does he even know what that does to him...

A loud chime dings somewhere nearby and it makes Cas jump and Dean pull back.

Seriously!? Dean is going to  _ strangle _ whoever it was that just texted him. He looks at the offending piece of technology and curses himself for not leaving it in his bedroom, or on silent, or for having it at all. Phones are stupid, and since he can’t actually shoot lazerbeams from his eyes and blast the damn thing to oblivion, he snatches it off the counter and looks at the screen. 

_ Fucking Sam.  _

He’s not even here yet and his pain in the ass little brother is already being annoying. 

“Everything okay?” Cas asks with cool indifference, even as he’s standing up from the barstool and collecting their mugs to put them in the sink. 

Dean tries to read the look on Cas’s face for any kind of signal of where they stand or if there’s any hope of acknowledging the tension in the room, but Cas is infuriatingly, unbreakingly calm and collected. 

Dean’s heart sinks to the bottom of his feet. This must all be in his head because if Cas were feeling even half the things Dean is right now, he wouldn’t be so goddamn unbothered. He never should’ve trusted Charlie when she told him that Cas was into him. He’s been such an idiot and now it’s time to reign it in. 

Trying to keep the disappointment from his voice and the conversation on track, he answers. “Sam’s on his way. He should be here in about four hours.”

“Then you better go take a shower so we can get going. Ellen is expecting us at The Roadhouse pretty soon to help her set up for tonight.” 

Well then, that’s that. 

“Yeah, okay. You’re right.” Phone still in hand, Dean stands and walks towards the bathroom, stopping short to turn back around. “Hey, Cas?” Cas looks up at him, his features soft and expectant. “Thanks.”

Cas tilts his head every so slightly. “For what?” 

“For not judging me. For being a good friend. And... for last night. I should’ve never asked. That wasn’t fair of me.” 

Dean’s nerves are still on edge and he’s going to have to figure out how to deal with the fire that’s been steadily growing low in his gut ever since he laid eyes on Cas, but he can still be a decent, respectful human. He has to be. 

“I meant it when I said not to worry about it. My ex-boyfriend always hated cuddling, but I didn’t share his sentiment. I slept just fine last night, so no loss on my end.”

Cas shrugs his shoulders as if this conversation is the most casual thing in the world, but Dean’s brains fritzes out.

“Boyfriend? You— you uh, never mentioned a boyfriend before.”

“No, I haven’t.” Cas almost looks… embarrassed? “I’ve been so used to hiding it, so used to hiding  _ him _ . In the end, none of it really mattered anyway.” 

They stare at each other for several moments and Dean would give anything to be able to read Cas’s mind right now. One minute he feels undeniable electricity, the next minute he’s certain that there’s nothing there, and then the minute after that, Cas is mentioning a boyfriend. Come the fuck on. Something’s gotta give, right? 

He realizes he’s got a death grip on his phone when it buzzes again with another text. This time it’s Ellen. He really needs to get a move on. 

“Someday, Cas, you’re gonna have to tell me your secrets, even the playing field a little bit.” 

The side of Cas’s lips quirk up into a shy sort of grin. “Of course, Dean.” 

In the shower, Dean lets the water run cool, almost cold. His emotions are all over the place and he’s hoping the refreshing chill will help him get it together, focus on the day ahead. And okay, so maybe he also needs to get rid of the flush that’s covering his body, heating him up from the inside out. Too much has happened today already and he hasn’t even been awake for an hour. He needs a freakin’ nap. 

He tilts his head up to let the water splash on his face and with the effort to clear his mind, it begins to wander instead… to a nap… back in his bed… with a messy-haired blue-eyed man… 

_ Goddammit. _

His skin feels hot even against the cold water and he’s getting hard… er. He’s been sporting at least a semi since he woke up this morning and the ebb and flow of hormones shooting to his dick has gotten downright painful. Honestly, he deserves some kind of award for waking up next to Cas this morning and not immediately needing to take care of the situation like a horny teenager.

Right now, he’d like nothing more than to ignore the little soldier standing at attention, to force it to go away by sheer willpower, but the truth is, it would be best if he just took care of it. He’s gonna be around friends and family all day today, including Cas, and he needs to take the edge off before he combusts. Besides, no one in their right mind would blame him, not if they had to be in the same room with Cas all the time and had eyes. 

Turning the faucet in the opposite direction, he rolls his shoulders against the hot water to help loosen the muscles that tightened up thanks to his nightmare. He slides his hand over his abdomen and lets it travel south, skimming his shaft and cupping his balls. He lets out a long, relieved breath, giving himself a moment to get in the mindset. When his palm slips back up and presses firmly against his cock, a groan nearly escapes him, but he catches it. 

As much as he’d love to take his time right now, he doesn’t have the luxury. Only allowing himself a few more languid strokes and one very private fantasy, he makes quick, practiced work of it. He bites down on his bottom lip as his come spills over his fist and his knees nearly buckle. He tells himself that it definitely wasn’t Cas’s hand he was imagining doing all the work. 

Breathing hard and washing clean the evidence of his indiscretion, Dean’s body goes wobbly. His head clears and although he expected to be left with a sense of relief and satisfaction, that’s not what he gets. 

Instead, he feels raw and exposed, his emotions volatile and his mind uneasy. Cas knows about him now and there’s no taking it back. There are too many thoughts swirling in his brain and too many ways to interpret all of them, not to mention the fact that he  _ still _ has to worry about his impending court date… all the while Sam is on his way. 

He definitely wants that nap now. 

After they both get ready, Dean and Cas stop for bagels and walk over to The Roadhouse to see how they can help Ellen. She immediately shoves a long grocery list in his hands and practically pushes him out the door with it. Dean is happy for the distraction and only feels slightly bad when he doesn’t ask if Cas wants to join him, walking back to the house alone to get his Baby. He just needs some time. 

Sam calls when he’s about an hour away. His “friend” is driving him from Tahoe to drop him off and they agree that it would be best to meet at the house. That way, Sam and Dean can have a little bit of time to themselves before the commotion starts and before Ellen and Charlie commandeer most of Sam’s attention. Dean would be lying if he said he wasn’t excited. He misses his little brother and so many things have changed recently that they have a lot of catching up to do. 

He’s already dropped off the groceries and helped Ellen prep some of the food in the back kitchen by the time Sam texts him that he’s only twenty minutes out. Ellen knows that he and Sam are working out the logistics of Sam’s arrival and she doesn’t expect to see him until dinner tonight but Dean keeps Sam’s texts discrete anyway, not wanting to hurt any feelings that the brothers are meeting up at the house first. He quietly tells Cas that he’s slipping out and Cas gives him a smiley nod. They had agreed earlier that Cas would stay and help (more like watch) in the kitchen and that he would meet Sam at the dinner.

Two minutes before Sam knocks on the door, Dean receives another text from him asking if he’s by himself. Dean replies with a confirmation and when he opens the door, he understands the question instantly. Standing next to his tall, goofy brother, is a beautiful brunette with long, wavy hair. After giving Dean a giant bear hug, Sam steps back and puts his arm around the woman.  _ Dean fucking knew they weren’t just friends _ . 

“Dean, this is my ummm…” Sam clears his throat, “...my girlfriend, Sarah.” There’s a smile on his face so big that Dean can’t help but smile back.

“Hi, Dean. It’s really nice to meet you,” Sarah says gently, yet there’s an excitement behind the words. 

“You too,” Dean replies. “I knew his ‘study partner’ must’ve been hot when Sammy here would get all weird and giggly anytime he talked about you.” 

“Dude.  _ Shut up _ , Dean.”

It’s so easy to fluster Sam and so very fun to watch him get all twitchy and huffy, but Dean still doesn’t miss the way that Sarah looks up at him with sparkles in her eyes. 

Gross. 

Dean sticks out his hand for a handshake and he’s taken aback when Sarah surges forward and wraps her arms around him for a hug. “I’ve heard so much about you and I’ve been really looking forward to finally meeting you.” 

He returns the hug and then steps back to invite them both inside. “Don’t believe anything he says. Sam’s a big fat liar. Unless he told you that I’m Batman, ‘cause then he was totally telling the truth.” 

Sarah laughs something light and sweet and holds onto Sam’s arm as they all walk into the house. It’s been thirty seconds and he can already see how smitten they are. It’s adorable. 

Dean offers drinks but they only accept water before taking a seat around the small table in the kitchen. Sam tells Dean about how he met Sarah in one of their gen-ed classes. He was too chicken to ask for her number but they ended up running into each other at a party that same weekend. Apparently, Sam took several shots of liquid courage and finally asked her out before promptly leaving the party alone, much to everyone’s confusion, including Sam’s. They went out for coffee together the next morning and that was that. 

The story is sweet and Sarah keeps adorning Sam with little touches on his arm or his shoulder, and Sam smiles, preening under the attention. They talk for a short while and Sarah is witty and smart and way too good for his pain in the ass little brother, but Dean’s happy for him. 

When Dean asks if Sarah’s coming to dinner to meet everyone, Sam shifts in his seat. Sarah tells Dean that she’s driving straight through to visit her own parents and wants to get going so she can make it there before dark. They say their goodbyes and Sam walks her out to the car.

“No wonder you didn’t want to tell me about your study date, Sammy,” Dean says when Sam walks back inside the house carrying his duffel bag and a backpack. “‘Cause I would’a told you from the jump that she’s way too good for you.” 

“Ha. Ha. Very funny, Dean.” Sam waits a beat, and then adds, “So, what did you think? Really?” 

“She’s great. I’m happy for you, man, but now you’re gonna tell me the real reason why she’s not coming to dinner.” Dean could read it all over his face that there was something Sam didn’t want to say when the question came up.

Sam sighs. “Don’t be mad, okay? But things are really new between us and we’re just not ready for the whole meet-the-family ordeal. She really is headed to her parents’ house tonight but we agreed on just this quick stop.” 

“Okay. I get that, but why here?” 

“Come on, Dean. You know why.”

Dean does know why. 

When they were younger and Dean had just started high school, he became friends with a girl named Lisa. Sam didn’t like her, said he got “weird vibes” whenever she was around. Dean, of course, didn’t care what Sam had to say and started dating her a short time later. They went out for nearly a year and Sam protested the whole time. When Lisa cheated on him and then somehow tried to place the blame on Dean for it, Sam walked around for at least a week saying “told ya so” every chance he got. 

The following year, Sam had just barely started middle school and was about to get himself a girlfriend, but Dean could see from a mile away that the girl was trouble. Since Sam still looked up to him at the time and took his advice as truth, Dean was able to convince him to steer clear. A week later, she asked another boy to the school dance and then ended up ditching him for her secret high school boyfriend. Sam dodged a heartbreak bullet and Dean made sure to parade around with his own “told ya so” teasing. 

After that, Sam wanted to make a pact to always get each other’s approval before they got serious with a girlfriend. He agreed at the time and they kept their pact… until he completely ignored it when Sam warned him about Gordon. Sam had tried desperately to apply their pact rules to Dean’s new friends, but to no avail. Dean wasn’t having it. 

Seeing the look on Sam’s face when Dean came home after his arrest remains one of the singular most devastating moments of his life, second only to learning of his parents’ deaths. He will never forget the way Sam held back tears that day, Sam’s rage kept in check only by his utter disappointment. Dean couldn’t look him in the eye for at least a month.

“Fine. She passes round one,” Dean says, not wanting to give Sam the satisfaction of making this easy. “But I’m going to need more time before you get my final approval, so don’t go buying any rings or anything equally stupid.” 

Sam has a goofy, lopsided smile on his face when he picks up his bags and walks the few feet to the spare room. Before Dean can think to stop him, he’s throwing the door open. 

Sam stops in his tracks. “Shit. I forgot you said this is Steve’s room now. Sorry, old habits.”

“No worries, Sammy. You can toss your bags in my room.”

Sam follows the instruction and Dean grabs them a couple of beers so they can relax before they have to head out to The Roadhouse. Sam doesn’t wait long before he opens his big, dumb mouth again.

“So. Speaking of Sarah, how’s Steve?” he asks, a shit-eating grin on his face. 

His baby brother may be smart as hell, but he sure as hell ain’t smooth.

Dean spends the rest of their time catching up together dodging loaded questions and childish innuendos. It’s all in good fun and Dean enjoys the playful banter right up until he finds himself standing in front of The Roadhouse. 

He’s been excited about this dinner with Sam and their friends and family for a few weeks now, so it doesn’t make sense why all of a sudden, during the walk over, his heart began to beat it’s way up his chest and get itself lodged in his throat. He’s shaking out his hands when Sam gives him a hardy slap on the back. 

“Don’t worry, Dean. I’m sure I’ll like Steve, too.” 

_ Wait, what? _ That’s not— he isn’t— but—-  _ holy hell. _

Dean’s nervous about Sam meeting Cas. Dean is actually looking for Sam’s  _ approval…  _ and Sam fucking knows it. Jesus, this is so much worse than he realized, and leave it to Sam to call him out. 

Sam lets Dean lead the way and they enter The Roadhouse. It takes all of ten seconds for Ellen to make her way to Sam and demand a hug, and Dean knows he won’t see much of him again until it’s time to go home. Both Ellen and Bobby offered for Sam to stay with them, but it’s practically tradition now for Sam to stay at Dean’s and even if it may be a little cramped with three people in the house, the brothers didn’t even consider making different arrangements. 

After Sam is whisked away, Dean scans the bar for Cas, something his eyes are just trained to do now whenever he’s in the same room as the guy. Like Pavlov’s freakin’ dog. Seriously, what the hell? 

He doesn’t see Cas but he does spot Donna and Benny waving at him enthusiastically from across the bar. Charlie is somewhere here, too, because he hears her excited shrieks the second she sees the guest of honor. Bobby and Jody are also here, along with Garth and Cesar from the shop, and Cesar’s husband, Jesse. A small group of Sam’s friends from high school occupy a booth of their own and for whatever random reason, Ash is sitting with them. 

It’s a decent crowd and Dean’s heart feels full knowing that Sam has so many people that care about him. 

He makes his way over to Donna and Benny, who already have a beer waiting for him because they’re the actual greatest. Ever since their talk a few weeks back, Donna and Dean have been patching things up. They text almost daily and talk on the phone occasionally, and they’ve even met up for lunch twice. It’s almost like it used to be between them and even though they’re still making up for lost time, Dean often wonders what he did to deserve a friend like her. 

The fact that things felt like they started to fall back into place about the same time Cas showed up on the doorstep of the auto shop is not lost on Dean. He does his best to avoid thinking about it too deeply, but Cas just brings something out in him. It’s almost like he wants to create something special for Cas, give him a reason to stay. But now that Cas has moved in, however semi-permanent that might be, what’s his excuse now? 

Like he said, he doesn’t want to think about it. 

Sam eventually finds his way over to their table and Donna and Benny give the kid big hugs. He gives Dean a pointed look with raised eyebrows over Donna’s shoulder when he hugs her, as if to ask “ _are_ _you two good now_?” Dean nods a silent reply to the unvoiced question. He had mentioned to Sam that he was talking to her again but they hadn’t gotten too much into it. 

They’re eventually joined by Charlie and Ellen and Sam sticks around for a short while, telling some story about one of his professors (the nerd). Sam finishes up and is just about to take his leave from the group when he stops and squints towards the bathrooms. His eyes suddenly flare wide and Dean follows his line of sight to see what’s so interesting.

Walking out of the hallway is Cas. 

“Holy shit.  _ Dean _ .” Sam grabs him by the arm. “That’s—” He gestures at Cas, who is now walking towards them. “Ohmygod, that’s—”

As Dean tries to figure out what the hell is going on (how does he know what Cas looks like and why is he acting so shocked about it?), Charlie cuts them both off. 

“Steve!” she shrieks, getting up from her seat and running over to give Cas a hug. She squeezes him tightly and then throws her arm around his shoulder as he approaches the table. 

“Steve? What? No, guys. What are you talking about? That’s Cas—”

It hits Dean at the last possible second that Sam doesn’t recognize his roommate, Steve - Sam actually recognizes  _ Castiel _ . However the fuck  _ that’s  _ happening.

“Yes, Sammy,” Dean cuts him off with a hard thud to Sam’s chest to get him to stop talking. “That’s Casper, but we went over this, remember? Only I get to call him that.” 

Sam keeps looking between Dean and Cas, who appears to have also figured out that something else is going on, though he seems to be the only other one picking up on it, thank fuck. 

“Casper? What? That doesn’t even make any sen—-.” 

“Don’t ask!” the table says in unison, with several matching eyerolls. Dean’s about to give one right back, until Sam keeps going. 

“But Dean, he’s actually Ca—”

“HOW ‘BOUT A BEER, SAMMY.” Dean shouts, trying yet again to get his brother to shut the hell up. To get his point across, Dean practically shoves a glass of beer in his face and forces him to take a sip. 

Sam chokes on the beer and as he’s coughing, Dean pats him on the back and leans in close so only Sam can hear. “Shut your trap and we’ll talk about this later.” 

Sam turns his head to look at him and there’s confusion written all over his face but he nods slightly to acknowledge his understanding. 

Dean steps back and raises his voice for everyone else to hear. “Sam, this is my roommate, Steve. Steve, this is my little brother, Sam.” 

The two men shake hands and Dean sends up a silent prayer that the three of them are the only ones who recognize the awkwardness in the air. A quick glance around shows nothing but amused smiles, except for Donna, who meets Dean’s eyes with a slight squint of her own. He can’t stress about that, though, because he’s got to babysit this conversation until he’s sure that he’s in the clear. 

Sam and Cas exchange pleasantries but Sam is obviously skeptical and, considering the furtive glances Cas keeps throwing Dean’s way, Cas notices it, too. Sam eventually moves on from their table to socialize with others, but Dean remains on edge for most of the evening. 

A few times throughout the night, Cas finds Dean and tells him they need to talk privately, but each time they try, they’re interrupted for one reason or another. The truth is, Dean could easily avoid most of the interruptions if he wanted to, he just isn’t sure he does want to. Sam recognized Castiel somehow and Cas knows it. Neither of them have run away screaming or anything, so it could be some superficial nothing, except every time Cas looks at Dean with sad, worried eyes, he realizes that it could be a very real  _ something _ . He just wants to enjoy Sam’s party. 

The evening progresses on and as far as anyone is concerned, it’s a success. Since it’s a weeknight, the drinking never gets excessive and people trickle out here and there, but when Sam gets to a point that he can’t stop yawning, there’s still a decent crowd. 

“Why don’t you go home and get some rest, baby.” Ellen tells him in the company of their small family. Bobby and Jody are leaving and Dean and Sam joined Ellen to say goodbye.

“Ellen’s right. You’re here for a week, Sambo. There’s still plenty of time to see everyone. No need to overdo it on the first night,” Jody chimes in. 

“Yeah, you’re probably right. I need to crash before I fall asleep at a table and one of these assholes gets the bright idea to draw on my face with a sharpie.” 

Dean laughs and he catches both Ellen and Bobby trying to cover up their smirks because Sam is speaking from personal experience, thanks to Dean… and Benny… and Donna. 

“Say your goodbyes, Sammy, and I’ll come with you,” Dean tells him. 

Bobby and Jody leave and as Sam rounds the room, Dean goes in search of Cas. He finds him sitting with Donna and Charlie and they’re all laughing. Charlie is doubled over with tears rolling down her face and Dean’s not sure he wants to know what’s gotten her to laugh so hard. It makes him wish he was sticking around a little longer, but he really needs to talk to Sam. 

When Cas notices Dean standing near the table, he pops up off his seat. “Are we leaving?”

Just as Cas asks the question, Sam walks over to say goodbye to the girls and thank them for showing up. Dean takes the opportunity to pull Cas off to the side. 

“Just Sam and I are gonna head back.”

Cas’s face falls and he looks like a kicked puppy. Dean’s stomach twists into something painful when he thinks Cas’s eyes begin to water. 

“Dean, you have to let me explain. Before you kick me out, please let me—”

“Kick you out? The hell are you talking about? No one’s getting kicked out of anywhere, Cas. I just need to talk to Sam.”

Cas studies his face. “I can still come back to the house tonight?” he asks quietly. 

“Of course you can. You live there, genius. Just give us at least a fifteen minute head start, okay?” 

Cas nods his understanding and Dean turns to say goodnight to everyone else. 

The night air is cold as he walks down the street with Sam. He didn’t bring a jacket, so he crosses his arms in front of his chest and shivers, though he’s not sure it’s because of the temperature. 

“Alright. Out with it,” he says, wanting to get right to the point and knowing Sam would be willing to play the silent game all night if Dean let him. 

“What?” 

“Listen, Steve’s gonna be following behind soon, so cut the crap. Why’d you get all squirrely when you saw him? What’s going on?” 

Sam stops on the sidewalk and turns to glare at Dean with his signature bitchface that he’s perfected over the years. It means Dean’s about to get an earful.

“What’s going on? Oh, I dunno, Dean, why don’t you tell me? Because that guy isn’t named  _ Steve _ . His name is Castiel Novak. And judging by the fact that you call him ‘Cas’ and give some bullshit made up nickname as an excuse, I’m guessing you already know that.” 

Dean blinks for a second, not having expected Sam to know all of that or to have it shoved in his face all at once. 

“Yeah, I know his real name. My question is, how do you?” Dean snaps back, feeling more defensive than he expected to be. 

“Are you serious right now?”

“Jesus, Sam.” He swipes a hand down his face because clearly this conversation isn’t going to be as quick and painless as he’d hoped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He’s Castiel  _ Novak _ ,” Sam says, as if putting emphasis on the last name will somehow make everything make sense. When Dean doesn’t respond, he goes on. “How much do you actually know about this guy?” 

“I know enough.”

Sam throws his hands in the air and takes off stomping down the sidewalk. Dean rolls his eyes and chases after him, trying to keep up with his giant moose strides. 

“Castiel is living in your house and you don’t even know who he is.” Sam stops abruptly and Dean nearly runs into the back of him. He whirls around. “He’s not taking advantage of you in some way, is he? You have to tell me, Dean. Is he blackmailing you? Holding you hostage? Blink twice if I’m right.” 

“What the fuck? No! Why would you even say that?”

“Is he using you for money? Because—”

“Sam. Stop. No one’s taking advantage of anyone here, okay? I promise. Now take a fucking breath and tell me what’s going on.” 

Sam huffs and pushes his hair out of his face. “Castiel Novak. As in  _ Novak Aviation _ . His mother is Naomi Novak.” Sam says each sentence like it’s a question, so Dean shakes his head, much to Sam’s frustration. “She’s an aerospace engineer and made a name for herself by helping design the NASA rockets that we know as the Angel Squadron.” 

Dean starts them walking towards the house again. 

“You mean the rockets that Bobby used to let us watch launch on TV? Weren’t they all named after angels or something?” 

Dean remembers those mornings fondly. Bobby would wake them up super early in the morning and they’d all sit together to watch the launch. Ellen usually made them hot chocolate and then he and Sam would fall back asleep on the couch when the excitement was over. 

“Archangels, actually, but yes. And Naomi had three sons. Castiel is the youngest.”

“Alright. That’s cool and all, but what does that have to do with me?” Dean’s still trying to figure out why Sam has such a stick up his ass about the whole thing. “And so what if Cas has a badass, crazy smart mom?” 

Sam rubs his eyes as Dean unlocks the front door and they walk inside the house. “She’s not just crazy smart, Dean. She’s also crazy rich. Naomi trademarked her designs and started her own engineering company. Last I heard, her oldest son runs the business and Castiel runs the financials.” 

“Yeah, so? He told me when we first met that he worked in finance. He didn’t lie to me, Sam.”

Sam stares back at him looking dumbfounded but Dean really doesn’t see the problem. Sure, Cas hasn’t talked about his family and maybe it’s a little weird that he’s trying to hide out, but—

“You don’t see the problem here?” Sam asks. “A guy who’s incredibly wealthy and from a prominent family is just wandering the streets of San Seton? He doesn’t tell you who he really is and he’s made no move to contact anyone? That doesn’t raise about a million red flags for you? What’s his deal, Dean? What’s he want from you?” 

With each question that Sam asks, Dean’s defences build up. His shoulders are pinched and there’s a buzz of adrenaline running under his skin. Sam is backing him into a corner, making him feel stupid, but he’s not stupid. Cas hasn’t done a single thing to mislead or harm him… right? 

Dean thinks back to the wad of cash he found among Cas’s things that first night, and about how even more of it had been stolen by that truck driver. Then he thinks about all the things Dean’s shared about himself over the past weeks, and about all the times Cas never reciprocated with personal stories of his own. 

He thinks about all the questions Sam just threw at him, and then he remembers that Cas is helping Ellen with her accounting for The Roadhouse. His stomach twists.

Nope. Nuh-uh. No way. Cas wouldn’t do anything to them. He’s good and kind and polite. Ellen has said how helpful and smart he is. No. Cas is not a bad guy. 

Dean becomes frustrated as self-doubt wages war against his confidence. 

“How do you even know all this shit anyway?” he bites back at Sam. It’s easier to be mad at his brother than to face the fact that maybe Cas has been deceitful. 

“I’ve known of Novak Aviation for a long time, especially because I used to want to work for NASA, remember? But I mostly learned all this from Sarah.” Sam scratches his head when Dean gives him a questioning look. “Naomi is one of her heroes. Sort of. She did a research paper all about Naomi and the Angel Squadron for her  _ Women in Business _ class earlier this year. That’s how I recognized Castiel when I saw him. It was a pretty big project, so naturally I was exposed to all the research she was doing and even helped her with some of it.”

“Naturally.” Dean mocks with bitter disregard. 

“Come on, don’t be that way. I’m just worried okay? He seems like a nice guy but… what’s he really doing here?” 

Just as Dean is about to respond, he hears the front door knob rotate. They both look up but then the door knob goes still and there’s a soft knock instead. 

“Come on in, Cas.” Dean calls out while giving Sam a pointed look. “Don’t be an asshole, and I need you to keep this quiet,” he whispers with a pointed finger for emphasis. Sam holds his hands in the air indicating he’s going to back off. At least for now. 

Cas walks in and the tension in the air is palpable. The three of them have a brief, awkward conversation in the living room and it’s confirmed for Cas that Sam knows his real identity. Cas stays silent and simply nods along. He keeps glancing at Dean with sad eyes, like he’s still worried Dean’s going to kick him out on the street. It strikes him then that Cas hasn’t looked this hopeless since their first days spent together and the contrast between then and now makes his insides twist into a knot. 

Cas has come such a long way, and Dean never wants to see that look on his face again. 

Sam excuses himself to the bathroom to take a quick shower and Dean heads to the kitchen to avoid Cas’s gaze. He can sense that Cas wants to talk to him but now is not the time. He putters around before deciding to make hot chocolate while Cas busies himself with finding the spare pillow and pulling out the extra blankets for the couch. 

When Sam comes out of the bathroom he seems significantly more relaxed. Maybe he just needed a minute to himself after traveling all day, or maybe he gave himself a pep talk, or hell, maybe he jacked off in the shower to relieve some stress. Dean honestly doesn’t care, as long as he’s not so damn uptight. 

Dean passes out the hot chocolate, extra whip cream on top, and it puts a giant grin on Sam’s face. They sit at the kitchen table and Sam starts a conversation with Cas, asking him innocent enough questions, which Cas answers politely. They talk for a while and then Sam yawns with his mouth so wide that Dean can see his tonsils. He asks if they’re cool if he calls it a night.

Dean protests and argues that it’s too early to be confined to his room for the rest of the night and Sam pouts about getting sleep after a day of traveling, but the brotherly bickering is interrupted when Cas offers up his room to Sam. 

“Please take my room, Sam. I’m happy to change the sheets for you and I can sleep on the couch. I’m used to it.” 

“Cas—” Dean doesn’t want him to feel like he’s being forced out of his room, the room he pays rent for, just so his dumb brother can get his beauty rest, but Cas is adamant.

“It’s fine, Dean. Besides, Sam is way too tall for the couch and he’s a guest. I insist.”

“Thanks, Casti— or huh, Steve, I guess,” Sam mutters before heading off to bed.

Before long, Sam can be heard snoring from the other room. Dean and Cas don’t say much to one another but they do settle on the couch. They make it through two episodes of some HGTV home renovation show he wasn’t even paying attention to before he turns off the tv. He goes to the bathroom and brushes his teeth while Cas collects their hot chocolate mugs and rinses them in the kitchen sink. 

Dean gets out of the bathroom and Cas slips into it. The air is thick with the unspoken conversation hanging between them, yet it doesn’t affect the way they seamlessly move around one another, comfortable in each other’s space. 

Once he hears that Cas is finished brushing his teeth, Dean steps out of his room in a pair of boxers to find Cas setting up the couch as a bed like he used to. 

“What are you doing?” he asks. 

“Wha—” Cas swallows hard, “—what do you mean?”

“Come on.” Dean nods his head towards his bedroom, indicating that Cas should follow him, but Cas tilts his head in confusion. “What?” Dean asks with a shrug. “You’ve slept in here twice before. What’s one more time? I know the couch is comfy, but it’s not memory foam.” 

Cas doesn’t argue or ask further questions before following him to the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Realizing that Cas left all his clothes in his own room, he pulls out a pair of light blue cotton pajama bottoms and tosses them at Cas who wastes no time putting them on. 

Dean slides under the covers first and Cas only hesitates a few moments before following. Once they’re both settled, Dean clicks off the lamp next to his bed and both men lay still, flat on their backs and staring at a ceiling they can no longer see in the darkness. The air is charged but maddeningly quiet and Dean wonders if he’s going to regret this in the morning. 

“Dean.” Cas’s meek voice breaks the silence. “Please let me explain.” 

“Not tonight. Just… you don’t need to say anything tonight, okay? We’ll talk later.” 

Cas doesn’t push it and they lay side by side for minutes on end, an inaudible pulse beating against the black of the room. Dean thinks Cas has fallen asleep by the time he decides to roll over onto his side and face the wall.

Why? Why in all of this does he care so damn much about Cas or his feelings? If Sam is even a little right (and that jerk probably is), then Cas is rich and well-connected and has all the opportunities in the world right at his feet. So why is this guy living in his tiny house in the back of an auto repair shop and working at a bar in a podunk town where no one even knows his real name?

There’s movement behind him and he feels Cas roll onto his side. He assumes Cas turns to face the other direction but a tentative hand comes to rest on his shoulder. Dean sucks in a sharp breath but doesn’t pull away as he holds back a sigh. If he’s going to have to wake up in the morning and let the realities of his world come crashing down on his head, then he’s sure as hell going to enjoy one last night of blissful ignorance. He deserves at least that much. 

He grabs Cas’s hand and pulls it forward to wrap around his waist. Cas settles behind him and Dean can feel him relax before he tips his forehead to rest against Dean’s back. 

Maybe they both deserve this. 

Either way, Dean definitely doesn’t hear the barely audible sniffle from behind him, and he absolutely does not pull Cas’s arm a little closer. 

***

As it turns out, Dean still has trouble facing the music the next day, or even in the days to follow. 

He and Sam get out the door before Cas wakes up and he adamantly refuses to acknowledge the raised eyebrows that Sam gives him when he realizes that Cas didn’t sleep on the couch. 

Thankfully, Sam mostly keeps his trap shut over the next several days and occupies his time visiting friends and family, running errands, and keeping himself busy. He does his best to remain cordial when he’s around Cas, which Dean appreciates, but he does decide to sleep at Ellen’s for the rest of his stay, mumbling something about how Ellen really wanted the company. Cas goes back to sleeping in his own room. 

Throughout the week, Cas tries several times to talk to Dean. He manages to avoid it, though not without consequence. Cas’s demeanor regresses; he becomes quieter and a bit more reserved, but not completely shut off. If it wasn’t for Charlie constantly checking in on him and making him smile or laugh at his phone (which Dean totally isn’t jealous of, by the way), Dean’s pretty sure Cas would be worse off than he is. He’s glad Charlie has adopted him as her new “bestie.” 

It’s not that Dean doesn’t want to hear Cas out, because he does, he just isn’t sure he’s ready to hear the truth. And if he’s going to have to hear the truth and watch things fall apart, then he doesn’t want Sam’s smug face anywhere near him because he knows for a fact that Officer Barnes would frown upon physical assault, even if the recipient is a know-it-all brother. 

So Dean continues avoiding the inevitable and all the while Cas keeps giving him apologetic glances and holding his gaze from across the room. It’s like he’s trying to telepathically tell Dean everything he needs to say, and yet he never pushes or challenges. Cas never puts up a fight. 

Dean almost wishes he would. 

As a placeholder for the unspoken conversation between them, Dean notices that their words are slowly replaced with small, innocent touches - a nudge to the shoulder, a hand on the back, the brushing of limbs - each one a small reassurance that leaves Dean’s skin warm and tingling.

Over the next week, he and Sam spend a good deal of time together, though he does notice Sam’s mood shift if Cas is with them. When it’s the three of them, Sam bristles with unasked questions and it irritates Dean to no end, but he works hard to keep the peace and not rock the boat. It’s just easier that way. 

Friday evening gets particularly rowdy, but it’s a good time. The night starts out with all their friends crammed into Dean’s house for a game night. Much to Sam’s relief, Cas picks up Benny’s shift so Benny can have the night off, but the party ends up migrating to The Roadhouse anyway (orchestrated, he’s sure, by Donna and Charlie). Then someone (Charlie) stupidly thinks it would be hilarious to play a game of drunken truth or dare. On Dean’s first turn he chooses ‘truth’ and, thanks to Sam, his embarrassingly massive crush on Benny during junior year of high school becomes the group’s favorite topic of conversation. Benny already knew about the crush, of course, and he’s pretty sure everyone else at least suspected it, so Dean takes the ridicule like the champ he is… until he looks up to catch Cas watching him from across the bar, sadness tugging down the corners of his eyes. Dean spends much of the rest of the night trying to make Cas feel included, but it’s exhausting trying to juggle between his brother and his roommate.

On Saturday, things almost come to blows when Sam storms over to the shop where Dean’s working on the truck. Apparently, Ellen mentioned to him that Cas -  _ Steve _ \- has been lending a hand with the finances at The Roadhouse and Sam lets Dean have it. Dean has to shove him back to the house so they aren’t accidentally overheard, and luckily, Cas is out on a grocery run and isn’t home. He eventually manages to calm Sam down by reminding him that even if Sam thinks Dean is stupid, Ellen definitely isn’t and she would know if something was wrong. Sam mumbles something about how Dean isn’t stupid but Dean knows better than that. Of the two of them, only one is going to Stanford while the other is on probation. Anyone can do that math. 

Sunday is family dinner night followed by Sam’s last day in town on Monday. Dean already asked Bobby to schedule him for Monday off and he and Sam decided earlier in the week that they would have breakfast together before Ellen picks him up and drives him back to Stanford Monday afternoon. Sam would normally take a bus but Ellen has a meeting in the city early Tuesday morning, so she plans on staying the night and coming home Tuesday after her appointment. This leaves Cas with Monday off as well. 

When Sam arrives that morning having walked from Ellen’s, he can barely unpinch his face after realizing that Cas will be joining them. Dean gives him a glaring look of warning. They just need to make it through breakfast. That’s it. Then Sam goes back to school and Dean can talk to Cas and everything will be fine. It’s just breakfast. 

The weather is quite nice, so Dean suggests they eat on the front porch. Cas sets everything up outside while Sam helps Dean in the kitchen. He cooks a full breakfast spread; eggs, pancakes, sausage links, homestyle potatoes, and bacon. The three of them enjoy breakfast and Sam remains on good behavior. Dean sits back and relaxes. 

Breakfast is cleaned up and they’re drinking coffee in the warmth of the morning light when Sam sits up and looks at Dean.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t leave it this way.” Then he turns and addresses Cas. “What’s your deal?”

_...They were so close...  _

“Uhhh. What?” Cas responds, caught off guard at the sudden question. 

“You heard me, Castiel. What’s going on with all this?” Sam vaguely gestures at the house. “Why are you staying here with my brother? Dean told me about how you two met, how he picked you up off the street, but you have the means to live a life of luxury. So, I want to know the truth about why you’re here.” 

“Sam. Enough.” Dean doesn’t want this, not now, and certainly not coming from Sam. 

“No. It’s not enough. I want an answer before I leave because there’s something he’s not telling you.”

Cas quietly chimes in. “Dean, maybe I should—” 

“Cas, it’s fine. You and I can talk later.” 

“Later?” Sam snaps. “Why? So you can let him take advantage of you the way Gordon did?” His anger bursts with a calculated blow. 

Dean feels the air leave his lungs, like a suckerpunch to the gut. Cas’s eyes flare wide. 

A raging calm settles over him while the pieces start fitting together as to why Sam’s been so goddamn weary of Cas. 

“Is that what you think this is about? Do you really think so little of me, even after everything?”

Sam’s chest is heaving and Dean knows Sam’s waiting for him to lose his cool but Cas speaks up before anyone else has the chance. 

“Sam, I could never... I would never do anything like that to Dean.” Cas sounds hurt and his voice cracks. 

Sam looks back and forth between them before his eyes land on Dean. “He— he knows? About Gordon?” 

Dean nods. “He knows everything, Sam. And Cas  _ isn’t him _ .”

Sam knows as well as anyone that Dean doesn’t talk about that story, not with just anyone. Sam takes a deep breath and though the sharpness of his anger softens, it doesn’t dissipate. 

“That still doesn’t answer my question.” Sam turns back to Cas. “Why are you staying in San Seton? And don’t say it’s about money because you and I know that’s bullshit. What aren’t you telling us?” 

“I’ve cut ties with my family. I’ve left my job at Novak Aviation,” Cas answers carefully. 

Sam isn’t satisfied. “So? With a name like yours, you can have any job in any city. Why here?”

“Alright, Sam. Stop it. Enough is eno—”

“Because Ellen is about to lose The Roadhouse.” 

Both brothers freeze. 

Their retorts die on their tongues and they look at each other, stunned. That can’t be right. They’d know if Ellen was in trouble. 

Cas continues, his eyes locked on Dean’s. “I— Ellen made me promise not to tell you. I never wanted to keep a secret, but…” 

“But what?” Sam says, his voice stern but also the quietest it’s been all morning. 

“Ellen has been receiving incredibly neglectful financial advice over the years and I’ve been doing everything I can to help her mitigate the damages and stay in business.” Cas squares his shoulders and turns his gaze on Sam. “So, you see, Sam, it  _ was _ about the money. Just not about  _ my _ money.” 

Sam’s mouth opens and then closes again. He doesn’t say anything.

“Cas...” Dean starts, but he doesn’t know where to begin. 

“I think I should go, give you two some time. Have a safe trip back, Sam. Good luck with your new semester.” 

Cas steps off the porch towards the gate but before he can get too far, Dean gets his shit together and hurries down the steps after him. 

“Cas, wait.” He reaches out and grabs Cas’s hand. 

Cas looks down at their hands, and then back up at Dean’s face with glassy, crystal blue eyes. “I would never do anything to hurt you.” 

“I know.”

Cas nods and takes his hand back, leaving out the side gate. Dean takes several deep breaths before he rounds on his brother. 

“Are you fucking happy now, Sam? You come in here acting like you know better than everyone and you push and you—”

“I’m sorry. I was worried, okay?” The desperation in Sam’s voice causes Dean to deflate. “It’s been eating me up all week and I just couldn’t leave here not knowing if…”

“Not knowing if I was getting fucked over?” Dean finishes for him. 

“Yeah. Something like that.” 

Dean takes a seat and Sam follows suit. They continue drinking their coffee in silence.

“Did you know?” Sam asks, several minutes later. “About The Roadhouse? Did you have any idea?”

“Of course not. I knew Cas was helping her with accounting crap, but I just thought he was a math wiz or something.” Dean’s still trying to wrap his head around the news and he’s got about a thousand questions still swirling around in his brain.

“Dean, you do realize that if Cas is actually helping her, then she’s not paying him nearly enough. I wasn’t kidding when I said that his name could get him in the door anywhere he wanted. His mother isn’t the only one with brains in that family. Castiel is Ivy League educated and has been Novak Aviation’s Senior Budget Analyst for years.”

“Jesus.” Dean leans forward and rubs a hand down his face. He’s been living with goddamn genius. 

“What are we gonna do?” Sam asks. 

“I’ll talk to Ellen. Just give me some time to sort this shit out out and then I’ll talk to her, okay? You just worry about school.”

Dean drives Sam back to Ellen’s and they say their goodbyes. On the drive home, Dean’s eyes scan the streets for Cas. He’s not answering his texts and all Dean’s calls go to voicemail. 

He doesn’t blame Cas for wanting to make himself scarce after what happened, but by early evening, Dean still hasn’t heard from him and he’s getting worried. He texts Donna and Benny, but neither of them have heard from him either. He’s staring at his phone ready to text Charlie next when a message pops up on his screen from her. 

**CHARLIE** :  _ You lookin for ur boy?  _

**DEAN** :  _ Not my boy, but yeah. You seen him? _

**CHARLIE** :  _ Get ur ass to the library. _

The library. Of fucking course. 

Dean jumps in his car. He doesn’t have the patience to walk. As he approaches the front doors, his heart pounds against his chest and he has to take a moment. He doesn’t know what he’s walking into or what he’s going to say or even what Cas is going to say, but he needs to see him. 

“‘Bout time you showed up,” Charlie lightly quips from behind the front desk.

“Where is he?” Dean doesn’t have time to banter. 

“Piano room. Been in there for hours. Is everything okay?”

“I— I really hope so.” Dean feels his worry morph into something else… something that feels a lot like guilt. 

“Last door on the left.” She points to the hall that leads to the music rooms. 

“Thanks, Charlie,” he says as he begins walking away. 

“Hey, Dean?” He stops and turns to look at her. “Whatever’s going on, you can work it out, right?”

All he can manage is half a smile.

Dean peeks through the small window of the last door on the left. He thought it was weird when Charlie mentioned a piano room but just figured Cas was hiding out in there, probably reading. What he doesn't expect to see is Cas actually  _ playing _ . 

Cas is sitting at the wooden bench with his eyes closed, his head moving ever so slightly to the sound of the music he’s creating. The music rooms dull most all of the noise but they aren’t entirely soundproof, so Dean can hear the faint melody from within. He doesn’t know anything about music composition and he’s not a fan of classical, but he doesn’t need either of those attributes to recognize that Cas is masterful. 

As if by sheer, magnetic force, Dean finds himself carefully opening the door. The sound spills out and washes over him like sunshine on a warm day as he steps into the room just enough to lean on the doorframe. Cas is undisturbed, fully engrossed in the music, and Dean watches him, mesmerized. Cas is sat up straight, the model of idyllic posture, and the definition in his upper back is on full display. His hair is a perfect, wild mess and his jawline is sharp as he concentrates. Dean’s eyes wander down and he’s made breathless at the way Cas’s fingers dance across the keys with skilled precision. 

He’s beautiful in every single way.

Dean’s too busy being captivated by the sight in front of him to realize that the song comes to an end. A quiet gasp causes him to snap back to attention and lift his head to find that Cas is looking at him. 

“Hello, Dean.”


	10. Chapter 10

For as long as Castiel can remember, music has been a place of solace. Whenever the world gets too loud or too complicated, music is always there to help put things right again, or at least serve as a temporary escape, a way to quiet his mind if only for a little while.

After he left Dean’s this morning, he took a long walk, eventually stumbling into a nearby park. He quietly sat on a bench and watched as an old woman fed the ducks while kids rode by on bikes and people walked their dogs or pushed their strollers. A little while later, he spotted a young couple sitting on a blanket, kissing lazily under the shade of a eucalyptus tree and they just seemed so…  _ happy _ . 

Castiel is not a bitter or a spiteful man and he doesn’t often succumb to envy, but the longing he felt in his chest in that moment had him practically bolting from the park. 

Without remembering how he winds up there, Castiel eventually finds himself standing in front of the library. His feet carry him inside and he sees Charlie working at the front desk. Feeling only slightly guilty for all but ignoring her attempts to have a conversation, he leaves her with barely a word to find his favorite piano room. The last door on the left. 

After he gets settled, his phone buzzes with a text from her, offering to lend an ear if he wants to talk and telling him to let her know if he needs anything. He smiles and replies with a quick ‘thank you’, then promptly turns his phone off, his mother’s stern ‘ _ no distractions _ ’ warning echoing in his mind from his days of structured practice.

Anyway, he has enough distractions as it is because…  _ Dean _ . 

It’s always Dean. The hard working, selfless man with a heart of gold who, as it turns out, is also a little broken, just like Castiel. 

He lays his hands on the keys, letting his fingers familiarize themselves with the ivory beneath them. Then he begins to play. 

Castiel wants to feel angry about what happened at breakfast, but he has no right to be because this was all his fault. He should’ve told Dean the whole truth from the very beginning, should’ve told him his story. But no, he’s been too much of a coward and now he’s caused a rift between Dean and his brother. Sam even compared him to Gordon, that no good asshole who took advantage of Dean’s trust and  _ used him _ . Castiel knows what it’s like to be used, not the other way around.

His chest tightens and he picks up the tempo. 

Sam was just being protective, Castiel can see that, but the accusation still stings. The idea that anyone could think he would hurt Dean makes his stomach cramp into uncomfortable knots. He prays that Dean doesn’t decide that he’s too much trouble, prays that they’re able to work this out.

Tears slip down his cheeks as he plays… and plays and plays...

Hours pass and Castiel doesn't know what time it is or exactly how long he’s been here. He doesn’t look at the clock but he knows by the ache in the joints of his hands that it’s been a long while. 

The song he’s playing builds to a dramatic crescendo just before the tempo slows and he brings it to an end with practiced ease. As the last notes are played, he opens his eyes. In his peripheral, he notices a figure standing in the doorway, causing him to let out a small gasp in surprise before he recognizes who it is. 

“Hello, Dean.” 

Dean’s leaning against the doorframe, his body half in and half out of the room, staring at the piano and looking like he’s lost in thought. Castiel’s greeting snaps him to attention and he looks up to meet his eyes, a smile spreading across his face. 

Dean really is one of the most beautiful people Castiel has ever seen, and every single day he wonders if today’s the day that someone will finally catch Dean’s attention and steal his heart. It’s practically a joke that someone hasn’t already. Are people in this town really that put off by his past? That can’t be right. Not everyone can possibly be that dense. 

“Hiya, Cas.” Dean’s smile grows wider and Castiel has to focus. “I didn’t know you could play. You’re incredible.” 

“I didn’t realize you were watching,” he says, his face heating up with the praise.

“Oh uh, yeah, sorry about that. I didn’t want to interrupt.” He hesitates before speaking again, his hand massaging the back of his neck as he looks up through long lashes. “Do you mind if I come in?” 

Castiel nods and instinctively slides over on the bench, making room. Dean accepts the wordless invitation and the two of them sit side by side, staring at the keyboard in silence before Dean lifts a finger and presses down lightly on a key, making it ping with a sad, hollow sound. 

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Dean says. “Sam, he can get a little aggressive sometimes.” Another ping. 

“He thinks I’m trying to take advantage of you but I swear I’m not. I know that’s exactly what someone who’s trying to take advantage of you would say, but please, you have to believe me.” He hates the way his words are tinged with childish desperation but he can’t help it. Just because Dean didn’t walk into the room seeming like he was ready to throw him to the curb doesn’t mean he’s not terrified of the possibility.

“Is it true?” Dean gives him a sideways glance before looking away again. “About Ellen and The Roadhouse?” 

“Yes. But I’m doing everything in my power to help her. It’s just… it was never my information to tell, so anything else you hear about it should be from her.” 

Dean nods his understanding. 

“You’re nothing like Gordon, ya know.”  _ Ping _ . “Sam never should’ve said that. I think there’s a part of him that still doesn’t trust me and he gets… protective, I guess.” 

Castiel looks over at Dean. His profile is all sharp lines and soft curves all at the same time, and the hurt he feels is evident in the way his jaw is set tight, muscles clenched. 

“He loves you,” Castiel says delicately. “He doesn’t want to see you get hurt again. I can appreciate that.” Dean just shrugs, so he presses on. “Dean, I’ve never lied to you, but I also haven’t told you everything. You’ve never made me feel like I have to or that I owe it to you, even now, but I should’ve told you why I left Seattle.” 

Dean finally turns and looks at him. His eyes are so green and bright and expectant, and Castiel has never deserved the kindness this man has shown him. He swallows hard before he loses his nerve. 

“The things Sam knows about me, he’s not wrong.” 

There’s a sarcastic huff while Dean rolls his eyes and Castiel’s heart sinks. One sentence in and Dean’s already giving up— 

“Of course my idiot brother was right. Sorry. Please continue.” 

Castiel breathes out his relief. He can get through this. He needs to get through this. 

“My mother is Naomi Novak and I am -  _ was _ \- the Senior Budget Analyst for Novak Aviation. I left because of my family, not because I was bad at my job. Actually, I’m quite good at it. I graduated school a year early and went on to earn my MBA with a concentration in finance at Harvard Business School.” 

Dean’s eyes get big. “Harvard? Holy shit. Sam said you were smart but he didn’t say you were a genius.”

“I’m hardly a genius, Dean. Sure, math makes sense to me more than most, but the rest is just incredible discipline and a whole lot of privilege.” 

“Whatever you say, smarty pants,” Dean smirks. Castiel tries not to get distracted. 

“Anyway, you can easily find my credentials on the internet but what you can’t find are the details of the incredibly rigid upbringing I endured. Shortly after my mother made a name for herself in the engineering world and when I was just a toddler, my father left us. I’ve heard rumors that she was different when he was around, but the only Naomi I’ve ever known is the one who’s a strict disciplinarian with high expectations and a firm religious ideology. Even as children, she didn’t leave us much room for fun or nonsense. My brothers and I were educated in private schools, provided with tutors and private lessons, and mostly raised by an au pair, plus church on Sundays.” 

“Sounds fun,” Dean huffs. 

“I wasn’t much of a social child, so I mostly didn’t mind it, actually. My oldest brother, Michael, he thrived on pressure and competition whereas Gabriel hated all of it. He was the rebellious brother and it would make Mom so furious.” He smiles at the memory of the antics Gabe would get up to when they were kids, some of which he’d love to tell Dean about some day. “As for me, I just put my head down, paid attention to my studies, and did the best I could.” 

Dean scoots further away on the bench so he can turn his body towards Castiel, tucking his left foot beneath him to get comfortable. The attention makes him feel more exposed, but he relishes the fact that Dean cares enough to give it.

“I’ve always been different. I’ve felt it for as long as I can remember, though it wasn’t until high school that I truly realized I was gay. By then, I was both too fearful and too wrapped up in my studies to really explore it the way I would’ve liked. Gabriel called me a late-bloomer and I’m pretty sure he knew about my sexuality before I did.”

“Did Gabriel go to Harvard with you? Or Michael?” Dean asks quietly, as if he’s afraid of interrupting. 

“Gabe? No. Much to the chagrin of our mother, he went to a community college in Southern California and then completed his degree online. In the end, I think she was just happy he graduated. He’s actually quite brilliant, he just hates structure and rules.”

“Oh man, I bet visiting him in SoCal was a good time. All those beach bodies?”

Dean’s teasing chuckle is sweet and excited, like he’s expecting some interesting stories. Castiel supposes that that’s exactly what most people would expect, but he has none to offer.

“I haven’t talked to Gabriel more than a handful of times since his high school graduation. He left immediately after and never really looked back. Never came to visit.”

Dean’s face falls. “Never?” 

Castiel shakes his head and looks down at his feet, ashamed. The more time he spends with Dean and his amazing friends and loving family, the more apparent it becomes that no one has ever cared about him in the same way. Maybe after Castiel tells him everything he needs to hear, Dean will also come to the conclusion that he isn’t worth it. 

He clenches and unclenches his fists, trying to keep his emotions at bay. He wishes Dean would stop looking at him.

“What about Michael?” His words are gentler now. 

“He didn’t get into Harvard but he earned his MBA at UCLA.” 

Dean scoffs. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“For Michael, it was. The thing is, Michael and I never got along. He always hated how quiet I was and that I rarely let him rattle me, but even more than that he hated how things came easier to me, at least as far as academics were concerned. The fact that I got into an Ivy League and he didn’t, well, things only got worse after that.” 

“How so?” 

“Michael works at Novak Aviation, too. He’s on his way to becoming our mother’s COO but even so, he’s always resented me. Every step of the way he tried to find ways to undermine me or prove that he was better, more capable somehow. It didn’t matter to him that I didn’t care about any of that, or that I didn’t even want to be there at all. I never wanted anything to do with corporate finance, but it’s what I was groomed for.”

Castiel senses more than he sees Dean go rigid. He feels his own throat begin to tighten as anger creeps up his neck. He rolls his shoulders before continuing, hoping that what he’s about to confess won’t make Dean think less of him. 

“I hated it there, Dean. I despised every minute. There I was with a Harvard education and ample opportunities, and yet I was forced to work at a job in which I had no interest. I had a mother who looked at me as a commodity and a brother who resented me.” He picks at the hem of his shirt and takes a deep breath. “And to top it off, I had to… well… I also had to stay in the closet.”

Dean takes a sharp inhale and makes a discontented noise. “What the fuck. Seriously? Why didn’t you just leave?” 

“I couldn’t. Most of my salary was kept by my mother in order to pay her back for my tuition. I was able to keep some, of course, and I saved much of what I kept, but I was in a bad situation. I felt trapped and I often found myself struggling with bouts of depression… and then I met Cole.” 

Dean stills. “Who’s Cole?” 

“My ex, though I’m not sure he deserves the title.”

Dean’s eyebrows raise but he doesn’t say anything, just gives a slight nod encouraging Castiel to continue. 

“He worked for our courier service and would run documents between our offices and the labs across town, usually things that my mother needed signed in person or things she didn’t want sent electronically. One day, he began delivering data reports to my office. He was always so interesting and flirtatious and he had this smile that was just so charming, you know?” 

An audible swallow escapes from Dean and he shakes it away quickly. “Yeah. I know.” 

“Well, uh, we flirted for awhile. I was terrible at it but Cole, he always seemed so confident and unshakeable. He asked me out and I was ecstatic. No one like him had ever paid me any attention and I gave in to his charms quickly and willingly. He was happy to keep us a secret and was so understanding of what I needed, never judging me or trying to force me to come out.” 

Castiel realizes his fists are clenching on his thighs. He feels Dean shift next to him and he thinks he scoots closer, but maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Either way, the proximity is a comfort and Castiel takes several breaths, and then several more. He closes his eyes and minutes pass. 

“Cas?” Dean says softly. “What happened with Cole?”

“We— we were together for awhile. Almost seven months. Looking back now, I should’ve known. There were signs, little red flags here and there. I should’ve known, but things were better. I was feeling better and I didn’t want to let that go…” 

His voice trembles and a gentle hand at his back grounds him, helping him to focus. 

“One day, I met Cole in one of the empty conference rooms. It’s something we did on occasion but not often because it was too risky. I had declined at first because things hadn’t been great between us but he promised me he wanted to make it up to me, so I finally agreed. He was particularly enthusiastic that day and I let myself get caught up in it, and— and then Michael walked in.” 

Dean lets slip out a quiet, “oh shit”. 

“You should know that Michael took our religious upbringing far more seriously than Gabe or I ever did. Ironically, he often used the teachings of the Bible to exercise his perceived superiority, and he, uh…. he’s...”

“Let me guess,” Dean interjects, “he’s homophobic as fuck.” 

Castiel meets Dean’s eyes and there’s a challenging spark in them. To his relief, it’s not pity that he finds but something more akin to anger. 

“Yes. Very much so. He accused me of being gay several times over the years but I think a part of him always wanted to be wrong. Then he walked in on Cole and I and all doubt was removed.” 

“Cas…” Dean says on a whispered breath, but Castiel has to keep going.

“Michael hit me. Twice, actually. The first time I think was out of shock, but the second time was out of spite. I was stunned and so worried about Cole, but when I looked over at him, he had a smirk on his face and he was laughing.” The words taste like bile working their way up from his stomach, burning against his throat. “ _ Laughing _ . I couldn’t understand it.”

“What the fu—” 

“That’s not the worst of it.” 

Castiel bites his quivering bottom lip so hard he’s sure that he’s close to drawing blood. Despite his very best efforts, tears threaten to spill over and it’s infuriating. He closes his eyes against the stinging in them. 

“Before I knew it, my mother was standing in the room. Someone had heard the commotion and ran to go get her. When I saw her I thought she’d be furious with me, but she wasn’t. She looked… annoyed.”

Dean definitely scoots closer then and rests a hand on top of his. The gentleness in the gesture is more than Castiel can take and he lets the tears fall. 

“She… she got mad at  _ Cole _ . Told him that she was paying him to keep me happy, not to get us caught.” The hand on his tenses and squeezes. “Michael was furious, of course, because he didn’t know what my mother had done either, but I... I was blindsided. I looked at Cole and that asshole just shrugged before my mother sent him away. He  _ shrugged _ and he  _ smirked _ at me…” he sniffles and angrily swipes the tears away with his free hand, “...like it was all a joke to him. Like  _ I _ was a joke to him.”

Castiel shudders and abruptly jerks his hand away from Dean’s so he can use both of them to rub his eyes, a lame excuse to hide his face. 

“Cole left and Michael stormed out. That’s when my mother explained to me that she was paying Cole to keep me happy, to work as a distraction. While Michael had guessed at my sexuality, my mother was certain of it. Then when she found out that we’d already started seeing each other, she approached Cole and had him sign a contract. It was her way of taking control of the situation. She didn’t approve of my actions but was willing to keep me satisfied if that’s what ‘dissuaded my discontent’, as she put it. She told me I’d been a miserable brat but that I’d become more  _ amenable _ when Cole came along, and she wanted to keep it that way and to keep us quiet.”

He finds the courage to meet Dean’s eyes then. He knows he must look a complete mess, but he needs to know what Dean is thinking. By some miracle, where he expects to see disgust, he instead finds concern and benevolence. 

“I was nothing but a business transaction to her, Dean,” he says as he gets his emotions back under control. “She used me. Cole used me. I felt so disgusted. I still do. So, I went back to my apartment that night and I packed my backpack with what little I needed. I emptied what I had in my bank account, paid my rent in advance for the next several months, and I left. But before I shut my phone off, I called Cole. A part of me hoped that it’d all been a misunderstanding, that even if my mother was paying him to stay with me, I still meant more to him than just that… but it was quite clear that I didn’t.”

“Jesus Christ, Cas.” 

“And now you know how I got here and why I haven’t been forthcoming with my real name. I left that day and haven’t looked back.”

Dean searches his eyes for a moment before he speaks. “Are they looking for you?”

“No one walks out on Naomi Novak and expects to have heard the end of it. I’m sure they’re looking for me simply as a matter of PR, but I go to the library and check for news stories just in case things get out of hand. Nothing so far.”

“Cas.” Dean’s voice comes out small and broken. He clears his throat so the next words are spoken with conviction. “You’re safe here. With me. You can stay as long as you need, as long as you want, you know that, right?”

Castiel feels his eyes prickle with more tears and he wills them away. His throat tightens and he struggles to say what he has to. “You’ve done more for me than you’ll ever know, Dean. I don’t deserve everything you’ve given to me.” 

“See, that’s where you're wrong. What you  _ don’t _ deserve is a family who treats you like shit. What you  _ don’t _ deserve is to ever be made to feel like you’re not enough, because you are. You’re enough exactly as you are.”

Dean’s words are too much, hitting Castiel in the chest and making him feel alive, like diving into the ocean without testing the water first. It’s all too much. After confessing everything, laying it all out, Dean isn’t just accepting Castiel’s past, he’s damn near embracing it. Dean’s asking him to stay,  _ again _ , and this time, he knows what it truly means. This time, there are no secrets. 

_ Dean thinks he’s enough _ . 

It’s something he’s waited to hear his entire existence and Dean just says it, without necessity or requirement… or payment. He says it as if it doesn’t change absolutely everything, as if the world hasn’t been tipped off its axis. 

It makes something inside of him break wide open. He feels vulnerable and overwhelmed in a way he doesn’t expect. Emotions overcome him and the tears fall. He looks at Dean because part of him is still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for his mother to walk through the door and tell him it’s all been a lie. But she doesn’t come. 

As if the movement is plucked from one of his own fantasies, Dean’s hand rises up and cups the side of his face, brushing away a tear with the pad of his thumb. It’s intimate and comforting and it’s too much and yet not nearly enough.

There’s a swelling inside of his chest and he doesn’t know how to contain it. His hand instinctually reaches up to grab Dean’s wrist, clutching onto it like the lifeline that it is. Their eyes lock, a world of conversation happening in the silent space between them.

Everything building inside of him wants to burst outward, the push/pull of emotions too overwhelming to suppress, and for a moment Castiel doesn’t know how it will escape… until it does. 

Without thought, warning, or cognisance, Castiel’s body surges forward and his lips meet Dean’s in a surprising, desperate kiss. For a moment, the universe stops and everything goes still, except for the sparks flying behind his closed eyelids and the butterflies flurrying inside his ribcage.

But the elation turns to icy fear almost instantly and his eyes flash open. What has he done? He’s kissed Dean, and though Dean hasn’t pulled away, there was no consent requested, no permission given. Fuck, there wasn’t even fair  _ warning _ . 

Castiel abruptly yanks his head back, his insides stricken, stomach roiling in self-disgust.  _ Fuck fuck fuck.  _ Dean’s looking right at him, shocked and wild eyed, searching Castiel’s face for an answer. Castiel tenses, anticipating the inevitable blow as he stutters a broken apology. 

He hardly has the chance to get it out before Dean makes contact with his face, though not in the way he anticipates. Castiel’s head is embraced between Dean’s warm palms and strong hands pull him back in, crashing their mouths together again. 

It’s fast and urgent, yet tender. It’s awkward and uncoordinated, but fitting. 

_ It’s goddamn perfect. _

Castiel’s mind races while the world stands still. He’s not breathing, he doesn’t think, but he allows Dean’s lips to work against his in an electric back and forth. He’s lost all sense of what the rest of his body is doing as his limbs go weak and his head becomes weightless, but Dean’s hands never leave his face, holding him and keeping him present. 

The long pressed kiss turns into a thousand eager little kisses, their lips never truly parting between each one, neither of them quite yet daring to let their tongues wander. It’s sweet and it’s wonderful and it’s  _ everything _ . 

When Dean finally sits back, his lips are pink and pouty, and he darts his tongue out to wet them. Castiel mimics the gesture without thinking, tasting the lingering remnants of Dean’s mouth on his. It tastes the way sunshine feels. 

“I’ve been waiting for you to do that,” Dean says, breath still a little shallow.

The confession makes Castiel’s thoughts screech to a halt because what? He has? 

“You have?” he verbalizes. 

Dean leans in and kisses him again. “Yes. Hell yes.” 

“You— you’re not… mad?”

“Cas, ‘mad’ is the very last thing in the world I am right now.” 

They sit there for several moments, maybe a lifetime, simply existing in each other’s space. Castiel can tell that his face is flushed and it’s taking longer than usual for his breathing to get back to normal but he doesn’t care because Dean is looking at him like he means something, like he’s more than the disappointment his family believes him to be. It’s a foreign sensation and he’s going to soak in every single second of it. 

“Will you play something for me?” Dean asks, a small smile making his green eyes even brighter than before as he glances towards the piano. 

“What would you like me to play?” 

Dean shrugs and Castiel turns on the bench to face the keyboard, instantly missing the warmth of Dean crowded into his very personal space. As if Dean can read his mind, he slips his leg out from under him and turns to face the keyboard, too, sliding over on the bench until they’re shoulder to shoulder. 

_ That’s better. _

Castiel wiggles his fingers and rests them on the keys. 

“Do you only know the fancy classical stuff?” Dean asks, sounding genuinely curious. It makes Castiel smile. 

“Well, I began lessons at age four and am classically trained, but no, it’s not all I know. I can play other  _ stuff _ ,” he says cheekily, hoping that he’s coming off flirty instead of haughty. 

“Like what? What makes you the most happy when you play it?”

Castiel doesn’t have to think twice about the answer. “Elton John and Billy Joel.”

“Are— are you serious?” 

Even if Castiel couldn’t see Dean’s smile when he glances over, he’d still be able to hear it in his voice. With a warmth washing over him, he decides to show Dean instead of tell him, and from memory, the first chords of  _ Piano Man _ fill the room. 

Dean tosses his head back with a giddy laugh, a sound far superior than any piano could create, but Castiel doesn’t stop playing for his audience. His fingers dance their agile dance across the keys and he does his best to hide the delighted grin that’s determined to crinkle at the corners of his eyes. 

When the song ends, Dean applauds and even stands briefly for a one-man standing ovation. “Wow. I didn’t realize you had it in you, Cas. An Elton and Billy fan, huh? I can respect that.” 

“You know how some kids hide porn under their mattresses? Well, I saved up to buy keyboard books and hid those instead. My mother caught me playing from those books once. I’d never seen her so livid with me. She burned them in the fireplace and made me play the classics for four hours straight that day.” 

“Let me get this straight. You were punished for playing piano with… more piano playing?” Dean asks, jaw dropping open slightly. 

“According to my mother, Elton John’s music was unrefined, sinful… and gay, of course. And it’s not like she could ground me. I didn’t have many friends and I enjoyed spending time on my own anyway. I think more piano was her only option.” 

Dean focuses harder on him then, like he’s trying to read a book in an unfamiliar language. “Play me an Elton John song,” he demands, though it’s not a demand at all.

There’s something defiant in Dean’s eyes and Castiel shivers with the subtle thrill of it. He nods and begins to play again, his eyes slipping closed as he sinks into the song. It’s simplistic for his skill level but it’s one of his favorites, and Dean listens attentively while sitting motionless on the bench next to him. 

About halfway through, Castiel hears Dean begin to sing along under his breath, and he suddenly realizes how piercingly on point the lyrics are in this very moment -  _ Something About the Way You Look Tonight  _ a soundtrack to the sentiment in his head. 

The last chord fades and he can feel Dean’s eyes on him, the energy in the room having shifted again, back to something electric and pulsing. When Dean speaks, it’s with focused intention.

“No one has ever appreciated you, have they? I mean, really, truly appreciated how incredible you are?” 

Castiel’s heart is lodged somewhere in his throat and he isn’t sure if he’s expected to answer that question honestly or at all, so instead of answering with words, he leans in again, far more carefully this time, wanting to be absolutely certain that Dean is willing. Much to Castiel’s relief, he is, and they kiss again.

They’re slow and they take their time but as the moment builds, so does his desire for more. If these kisses are all he ever gets, then he can still die happy, but with the very real hope that Dean might be willing to give more, Castiel can feel himself react to it. Their bodies maneuver closer together and Castiel’s hands begin to wander, though he has no real idea of what to do with them. He places his hands on Dean’ chest, then moves them down Dean’s biceps before dropping them to his waist. 

Dean doesn’t appear to have the same problem. He is strong and steady, slipping one hand firmly up the side of Castiel’s neck, his deft fingers wrapping around the base while his thumb rests near the hinge of his jaw. Castiel all but melts with the contact, warming up from the inside out, his body responding to the attention it hasn’t been offered since Cole. 

Castiel is damn near squirming when a loud banging on the music room door startles them both and they push apart. He looks up to see Charlie peering in through the small window, a wild grin across her face.

The door opens. “You two boys ‘bout done?” she asks, trying to sound stern and exasperated, but the utter delight in her voice giving her away. “Apparently, I need to remind you that this is a  _ library _ , not a no-tell motel. Honestly, have you no shame?”

“Oh really?” Dean challenges, much smoother than Castiel could’ve managed. “Because I can name at least three times that you’ve been caught doing—” 

“Alright, alright! No need to go digging up the past,” Charlie interjects, and Dean grins, victorious. “But for real, I gotta help lock this place up, so kindly find somewhere else to suck face.” 

Castiel’s face flushes at the juvenile (yet descriptive) turn of phrase and then he looks to Dean to decipher if he’s at all bothered that they’ve been caught - he’s not. That, in and of itself, is a thrilling new feeling for Castiel. His heart soars.

“What do you say we get outta here?” Dean asks quietly, standing and holding out a hand to help Castiel up. 

He accepts the offered gesture and instead of letting go after he’s pulled to his feet, Dean maneuvers his palm in an artful sleight of hand, slotting their fingers together and gripping firmly. Dean walks confidently towards the door, tugging Castiel along just behind him. Castiel has to remind himself to breathe. 

As they slip out the door, Charlie stands there beaming at them. 

“Charlie...” Castiel starts, though he’s not sure what exactly it is that he means to say.

Charlie placatingly raises her hands. “This isn’t my makeout story to tell, so don’t worry about it,” she says, more to Castiel than to Dean. 

Dean hears it anyway. “Thanks, Red,” he calls over his shoulder before he leads them down the hall, through the front lobby, and out to his car parked a short distance up the street, never once letting go of Castiel’s hand. 

He thinks he hears Charlie shout after them, “It’s about time!” but honestly, he doesn’t look back because Dean is ahead. And where Dean goes, Castiel wants to follow. To the house on the corner or to the ends of the Earth, it doesn’t matter, he just knows he never wants to go back. 

The drive home is short and mostly silent save for a few casual pleasantries and countless stolen glances, each one a spark lighting him up from the inside and dancing behind his ribcage. If only it was enough to keep Castiel’s doubts at bay. 

By the time Dean’s got the car through the gate and the engine killed, Castiel has managed to convince himself that this is all nonsense, a cheap trick of his mind to create a false sense of security, because this can’t be real. It can’t be that fateful or easy. Maybe the kissing was real and he’s pretty certain at this point that Dean certainly cares about his well being, but all of this can’t possibly mean the same to Dean as it does to him. He should end this. He should draw a line in the sand before it gets messy, before he inevitably gets his heart broken. 

His heart feels heavy now and he doesn’t realize that his inner turmoil must show on his face until Dean speaks up, bringing Castiel back to the present and reminding him that they’re still in the car. 

“Hey, you okay?” The question is simple enough, though Castiel isn’t so sure the answer is. He’s saved from saying so when Dean continues. “If this is too much, Cas, if you don’t want this—” 

“No.” Castiel says, surprised by the force of his response. “No, it’s not too much.” 

He looks into Dean’s eyes and every negative, doubtful thought washes away like footprints in the sand after the tide rolls in.  _ How does he do that? _ How does Dean take the very worst parts of him and piece them together, over and over again, making Castiel feel unbroken? It must be magic, some kind of spellwork, because all he can think about now is the way it feels to have Dean’s lips on his, and he wants to feel it again, for as long as he’s allowed. 

“Okay then,” Dean says on an exhale.

The gentleness in Dean’s eyes, the way he’s looking at Castiel as though he wants this too, the tension swirling with unspoken words... it’s all-consuming. It’s like that first kiss was the dam breaking and Castiel can’t stop himself from feeling everything he’s been holding back since the moment Dean first shot him a smile. He can’t pretend anymore, can’t suppress the absolute desire he has for the man sitting across from him. 

To hell with it all. If Dean is offering even the smallest branch, the littlest taste, he’s taking it. 

Castiel surges across the seat, crowding Dean up against the driver’s side door of the car. It’s clumsy and entirely too eager, but he just doesn’t give a  _ fuck _ right now. 

Dean lets out a yelp of surprise before his body relaxes against the door, allowing Castiel to take control. 

Castiel is not a prude man. He’s spent his whole life in the closet, made to feel ashamed of who he is by the people he’s called family, and those circumstances have resulted in his somewhat limited sexual experience at this point in his life, but he’s certainly never lacked willingness or curiosity. He’s always had a healthy libido and he did a lot of exploring and experimenting with Cole because Cole was always game for the physical stuff. Looking back now, though, he understands that the sex is what blinded him most to the truth of what was happening. It was easy to ignore the lack of emotional connection between them when he was getting off regularly, easy to forgive the need to stay hidden when he never thought Cole would want to be publicly affectionate anyway. It’s true he never imagined that his mother could stoop so low as to be involved in the whole damn thing, but Cole was never right for him, not really, and most certainly not when compared to Dean.

In the last hour alone, Dean has made him feel things more acutely and made him want things more passionately than Cole or any other fling has ever even come close. Because right now? Right now, Castiel feels  _ alive _ . 

Dean’s hands are threaded into his hair while he’s practically straddling Dean on the bench seat. Castiel’s palm is firmly on the side of Dean’s neck, holding him in place as their mouths collide, his other hand bracketed on the doorframe for support. He can feel Dean’s pulse racing and it only encourages him. Before he has time to think about it, he slides his tongue past his own lips, slipping it into Dean’s mouth. Dean accepts with enthusiasm, bucking his hips up off the seat while one hand slides down to grip Castiel’s hip, pulling him down so their groins press together. Castiel groans at the contact and Dean huffs an amused laugh, punctuating it with a nip to his bottom lip. 

They grind together slowly, like two teenages who still have a bit of self-control intact. Castiel is buzzing under his skin, enjoying the building warmth of their movement. He’s hard in his jeans and there’s no denying that Dean is equally aroused, but neither of them make a move to remove clothing. 

Who knows how many minutes pass just like this, until Castiel’s legs begin to get sore from the awkward position of his body on Dean’s. He’s trying to convince himself to ignore it when Dean pulls his head back and softly pushes at Cas’s shoulders, putting space between them. 

“Sorry, Cas. The door has been digging into my back since we started this and I can’t stand it anymore,” Dean says, sitting up with a slight grimace on his face. “Yup, that’s gonna bruise.” 

Castiel sits back, working out the kinks in his own muscles. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” 

“Not your fault, and you never have to apologize for wanting to get frisky in my car. In fact, I’d be offended if you didn’t.” 

Dean winks and Castiel can’t help but chuckle at the effort because the charming flirtation is ironically undermined by the fact that Dean’s lips are swollen and pink, his clothes are disheveled, and his hair is a total mess. The wink is anything but the suave move Dean wants it to be, but Castiel’s heart flutters all the same (and his dick gives a valiant twitch knowing that his own hands are the culprits of Dean’s disarray).

Dean rolls his eyes at Castiel’s raised eyebrow. “Come on, let’s get inside. It’s getting cold out here,” and he’s right. The temperature is dropping rapidly. In fact, it’s supposed to be quite cold tomorrow as well. 

They gather enough sense to make it from the car to the living room, adjusting themselves along the way. As soon as they toe off their boots on the porch and get inside, Dean’s crowding him against the wall to pick up where they left off, but Castiel is suddenly hesitant and Dean senses it. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Dean asks, immediately stepping back to give him some space. 

“Dean, I— I just need a minute.” 

Maybe it was the chill in the air cooling off his hormones, or maybe it was the way Dean lined up Castiel’s boots right next to his own like they belonged together, but whatever it was, Castiel is having second thoughts… again. He looks around the house, the place where they live -  _ together _ \- and suddenly everything he’s got to lose becomes painfully apparent. If he screws this up, it’s a very real possibility that not only would he lose the best friend he’s ever had, but he’d lose his home, too. If they hook up tonight and they’re not careful, this could all come crashing down on their heads. 

“Hey, talk to me,” Dean says, his worry evident.

Castiel collects himself. “I need to go slow,” he blurts out ineloquently, though it’s not inaccurate. “Dean, it’s extremely important to me that I don’t lose your friendship, probably more than you know, so I need to be sure about this. I need  _ you _ to be sure about this.” 

“I am, Cas. And I don’t want to lose our friendship either. That’s not gonna happen.” Dean sounds certain and so confident that Castiel very nearly gives in to him right then and there, but he can’t. 

“Can you do me a favor?” At Dean’s nod, he continues. “Give it a day. We both have work tomorrow and if tomorrow night, you still want this, let me know.”

Dean looks him in the eye, reading him. “Okay. Deal.” There’s a pause and Dean looks down at the floor and scratches at the back of his head. “That uh, that’ll also give me time to talk to Ellen. This might sound stupid, but I need to tell her that Sam and I know about The Roadhouse, and I’d feel a lot better getting that out of the way before we… you know… whatever we might do.” 

“Now that you mention it, that’d make me feel a lot better, too,” he confesses.

“I just hope that she doesn’t kill you for narking her secret before I get the chance to show you how much better it is to make out in Baby’s backseat.” Dean laughs when Castiel nearly chokes on his inhale. “We could get into so much more trouble in the backseat, that much I can guarantee.” 

Castiel narrows his eyes at Dean. “At this moment, I’m far more worried about making it out of Ellen’s office alive.” 

Dean laughs again and assures him it’ll be fine, but they do decide that Dean should be the one to bring it up to her, and that they’ll do it tomorrow at lunch. Ellen will be back from her meeting in the city by then and Dean can bring street tacos from Ellen’s favorite taqueria. 

The mention of lunch reminds both of them simultaneously that they haven’t eaten anything since breakfast, so they order pizza and pick out a movie to watch from Castiel’s ever-growing list of movies that Dean demands he see. Tonight, it’s  _ Caddyshack _ .

Halfway through the movie, Dean’s head finds its way into Castiel’s lap, Castiel’s fingers threading through his thick, fluffy hair on instinct. 

By the time the movie’s over, the only thing Castiel can explain of  _ Caddyshack _ is that it has something to do with golf and there’s some kind of gopher giving Bill Murray hell. But in his defense, it’s difficult to pay attention to a movie when you’re pretty sure that your whole damn world just got turned upside down.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean has lived a long life in his short twenty-something years and he’s learned a lot of lessons along the way, like the power of a  _ moment _ . Some moments can change everything, sometimes for the better and far too often for the worse. Dean knows this as much as anyone, but he just experienced the former and right now, he might even be convinced to say that it made all the other shitty ones worth it. 

His hour with Cas in the piano room? Life altering. He’ll never be the same man he was before Cas kissed him, that much he knows. The initial kiss itself was fast and awkward and the dude clearly panicked after he made his move unannounced, but it was still perfect. 

Of course it was, because it was Cas. 

_ Cas _ \- the gentle soul with a heartbreaking past. Dean knew some shit had to have gone down for him to have abandoned his former life and hitchhike alone down the coast, but he wasn’t expecting anything quite so… telenovela. When Cas was telling him the Cliff’s Notes version of his past, it took everything Dean had not to give a running commentary of how fucked up it all was, though he’s pretty sure Cas knows that already anyway. The way Cas trembled and looked so ashamed, it broke him. If anyone were to ask, the truth is, he wanted to reach out and hold Cas the whole time. 

Even thinking about it now, Dean feels his blood boil beneath the surface of his skin. The way Cas’s own mother used and manipulated him, it makes Dean ache with a want to make it right somehow, but Cas doesn’t need that. Look at him. He’s smart (stupid smart) and capable and he’s come so far, and it’s not like Dean can do anything to change his past, but he really fucking hopes he’s gets to be part of his future. 

Underneath his cool cotton sheets, Dean rolls onto his back and stretches. He’s alone in his bed this morning and that’s okay. Cas wants to take things slow and Dean understands. He can wait however long he needs, and besides, he really is itching to talk to Ellen. Knowing what he now knows about Cas’s extensive education in finance, he feels a sense of relief, but he still needs to talk to her. He wants reassurance straight from the source.

Grabbing his phone, Dean sits up and swings his legs over the side of his bed. He stares at the text Donna sent him last night congratulating him on finally making it to first base, which was promptly followed by a string of ridiculous heart-eye emojis. Three more texts followed after that: one demanding details, another apologizing if she was interrupting his advancement to other bases, and the final one threatening that she better get a phone call. All have remained unanswered and he knows she’ll come kicking down his door if he doesn’t respond soon, so he shoots back an evasive message promising that they’ll talk later, and just to be a tease, he adds a winking face and a shushing emoji. 

Then he turns his attention to his traitorous friend. 

**DEAN** :  _ Really??? Thought you were gonna keep our secret.  _

The response is instantaneous. 

**CHARLIE** :  _ Donna doesn’t count!!! And you know it!!! _

**CHARLIE** :  _ Still super happy for you btw. You two finally do the deed?  _

**DEAN** :  _ No details for you. You’re cut off. _

**CHARLIE** :  _ Deaaaaaan. Come on. Pleeeease?  _

Dean rolls his eyes and turns off his phone. His friends are insufferable and he knows Charlie is going to try and hit up Cas for the details anyway. Who would’ve figured that those two would end up hitting it off so well and becoming besties, as she would say. And so what if it warms Dean’s heart knowing that Cas has made friends here? She’s still annoying. 

Unable to control the smile that has permanently plastered itself to his face since last night, he gets up and gets ready for work. Cas is still sleeping by the time he needs to leave but he’ll be up soon enough, so Dean starts a fresh pot of coffee for him. Before slipping out the door, he leaves a post-it note on the coffee pot with a simple ‘ _ Mornin’ Sunshine _ ’ scribbled on it. 

Dean could easily see that Cas was struggling yesterday as he yo-yoed back and forth between nervous hesitance and excited eagerness, an emotional tug-of-war. The thing is, Dean’s pretty sure the guy wants this, hell, he was downright enthusiastic about it, but something keeps trying to hold him back. Dean figures it has a whole lot to do with the fact that his last relationship was… well… it was fucked up is what it was, so it makes perfect sense that Cas would be skeptical about starting something new. It just means that Dean is going to do his best to be reassuring and hopefully prove that he is everything that Cole wasn’t.

The morning drags on and if he’s not getting distracted by the memory of Cas’s lips on his, then he’s distracted by the trepidation sitting heavy in his gut at the thought of talking to Ellen. He texted her earlier to ask if he could bring her lunch and she was just getting back into town, so she was grateful for the offer. Bobby, on the other hand, is none the wiser as to what’s going on in Dean’s head and he keeps busting his balls for staring off into space. After one too many times, Bobby finally asks, “what’s the matter with you, boy?” in that gruff way that means he’s annoyed but also kinda worried. Dean just apologizes and makes sure he keeps his head down until lunch. 

After picking up an order of street tacos for himself and Ellen, and taquitos for Cas, he finds himself knocking on the door of Ellen’s office, palms already clammy with nerves. When Ellen calls for him to come in, he opens the door to find her sitting at her desk and Cas leaning over it, looking at some paperwork. 

Cas looks up and their eyes meet across the room, and okay... so maybe he’s feeling a little nervous about more than just talking to Ellen. Then Cas smiles at him all shy and insanely cute, giving him the confidence he needs to take care of business because not only does he trust Cas, he most definitely hasn’t changed his mind about wanting to start something with him. If he’s lucky, that’s happening tonight. 

“Lunch time,” he grins, holding up the bag of food and dangling it in the air. 

“Perfect timing,” Ellen says as she stands and walks to the door to take the food and give Dean a quick kiss on the cheek. “Why don’t we eat this downstairs.” 

Dean glances at Cas and Cas’s smile is gone, replaced by an unsettled look, but Dean thinks he sees Cas give him a small, encouraging nod anyway.

“Actually, I was uh— I was sorta hoping we could talk. In private. And I only have a short break before I gotta be back at the shop or Bobby might actually fire me.” He gives a timid laugh and Ellen looks him up and down, trying to figure out what’s going on.

“Sure, honey.” She looks at Cas. “Steve, do you mind giving us a few minutes?” 

“He should stay,” Dean says before Cas has a chance to make an exit. 

Ellen’s eyes squint as she looks between the two men. “What’s going on? Is everything alright?” 

Dean takes a deep breath. Here it goes. 

“Everything’s fine, but there was something I wanted to bring up to you. See, yesterday, Sam came over for breakfast and we all got to talking, but then Sam started being Sam and well… he sorta got it out of Cas that he’s been working with you because—” Dean falters, words suddenly failing him. 

Cas interjects, saving Dean from having to keep trying. “I had to tell them about The Roadhouse, Ellen. I’m very sorry. It wasn’t my intention, but—” 

“It really wasn’t his fault. Sam kinda put him in a tight spot and—” 

“Enough.” Ellen raises her hand to stop them both from continuing to talk over each other, like two children who know they’re about to get in trouble and are trying desperately to talk their way out of it. 

Silence fills the room before Dean speaks again. 

“Are you going to be able to save it? Because I want to help. What do you need me to do?” Dean’s suddenly feeling much more concerned about the realities of the situation now that he’s face to face with the woman who has put her entire life into this bar, and he’s a little knocked back by the unexpected fear of it. 

“I appreciate you boys coming forward, but I think Dean and I need to talk about this a little more.” She looks at Cas and he understands. 

Before he leaves, Dean finds the taquitos in the bag and hands them to him, finding a soft look on his face that seems to express both an apology and encouragement. With his back to Ellen and the movement concealed, Dean takes Cas’s hand and squeezes it. Their eyes meet and Cas’s lip quirks up at the side, a faint hint of a smile. As he walks out the door, he lets his fingers linger with Dean’s and then he’s gone. 

“Close the door and take a seat, Dean,” Ellen says from behind him, and he does. “So Sam gave Steve the third degree, did he? I should’ve known your brother was going to try something like that.” She chuckles and shakes her head as she takes her own seat behind her desk, sounding more amused than she does upset, which is a relief. 

“He really did. Cas - uh, Steve - tried to hold out as long as he could, but you know how Sam can get.” 

Ellen looks at him with narrowed eyes before blinking a few times. “I’m well aware of Sam’s ability to be especially persistent. I can also understand why he felt cause for concern, but the truth is, I think we’re gonna be okay.” She breathes out and leans back in her chair. 

“Really? This place isn’t going under?” Dean asks, hopeful. 

“I’m going to have to make some changes around here and Steve has agreed to continue to help me work on the budget, but yes, I think we’re going to be able to work it out.”

An audible exhale escapes him, shoulders sagging in relief. “I know he’s been trying to help and I trust that he’s doing his best, but I’m happy to hear the good news from you.” 

“Dean,” Ellen starts, “my meeting in the city this morning was with a financial advisor.” He perks back up, listening. “I wanted to be sure that the work Steve’s been doing is— I just wanted a second opinion because this place is my livelihood. I know you understand that.” 

He nods because of course he understands. “And? What did the advisor say?” He feels his heartbeat speed up because right now, he very much wants two things: for The Roadhouse and Ellen to be okay and, on a more selfish note, for Cas to have been the one to help. Sure, he wants to rub Sam’s face in it, but he also wants his trust in Cas to be justified, verified beyond a reasonable doubt. 

“He said that whoever took over the financials of this business must know what he’s doing, and probably more than most. He said that the new budget strategy along with the new vendor contracts that have been negotiated are better than an average accountant could pull off. In fact, it looked like the poor guy was trying to contain how impressed he was before he blatantly told me that whatever I’m paying my accountant, it isn't enough.” 

Dean swallows.

“Did you know Steve went to Harvard?” she asks, the barest hint of accusation behind the question. “He told me just this morning when I asked.” 

“I only found out yesterday,” he replies carefully. He’s absolutely thrilled to hear what Ellen just told him but he isn’t prepared for an inquisition about Cas’s credentials, or about how an Ivy League graduate ended up lost in Bagyo Bay and sleeping on Dean’s couch. Cas had asked him last night if they could continue to keep the secret of his identity just between them and Dean’s not about to give him up, no matter how much he knows Ellen wouldn’t judge Cas for his past. 

“Mmmhm,” she says slowly. “Well, your boy sure is something else. I also tried to mention the issue about not being paid enough, but he wouldn’t hear it. He told me that he’s not in it for the money and that he’s perfectly happy with the current arrangement. I am, however, officially hiring him as my accountant and financial advisor.” 

Dean tries not to smile so big but he can’t help it, and he steadfastly ignores the way Ellen watches him carefully as he divides up their food. They eat lunch together in the office, not another word spoken on the matter other than a perfunctory apology from Ellen for having kept everything to herself and a promise to call Sam to set things straight with him. Dean’s totally going lay it on extra thick with the I-told-you-so’s as soon as she does, too. Ah, sweet justice. 

Realizing the time and that he’s cutting it way too close to get back to the auto shop before he’s late, he says goodbye to Ellen and rushes out of the bar, shouting a quick hello to Ash and then smiling at Cas with a wink. He’s annoyed that he’s not able to stay a minute and enjoy the way Cas’s face lights up, but he pulls out his phone and sends him a quick text on his walk back to work, telling him that the conversation went well and that Ellen doesn’t appear to want to murder anyone. 

Cas responds with nothing but a bunch of different emojis and Dean has to roll his eyes. Cas has been hanging out with Charlie and Donna way too damn much. 

The rest of the afternoon drags on but the last hour is the worst. He’s working on some paperwork for Bobby, which means he has no good distractions from thinking about getting home. The anticipation makes him fidgety. Cas asked him to wait until tonight to see if he still wants something to happen between them, but that’s hilarious because what Cas doesn’t know is that Dean’s felt the same way about him for  _ months _ . He has no doubts about his own feelings, but he does hope that Cas hasn’t spent the day trying to talk himself out of his own, which is absolutely a possibility. 

When it’s time to leave, Dean takes the shortcut through the back of the garage and all but runs across the junkyard, stopping at the tire wall to collect himself before walking the rest of the way to the house. On days when Cas works directly with Ellen, he usually gets home about an hour later than Dean, so it’s no wonder that he stops short when he unlocks the front door to find Cas pacing the living room. 

Cas looks up when he sees him walk through the door and freezes, worry written all across his face. Dean immediately crosses the room to stand in front of him. 

“You did it, Cas. You fucking did it.” He doesn’t even try to disguise the awe in his voice. “Ellen said that with everything you’ve done, things are going to be okay.” 

“Dean, she’s not exactly out of the woods yet. There are more contracts I need to review with some of her vendors, budgetary cuts that still need to be considered, and it will still take at least a couple years for The Roadhouse to be as financially sound as it needs to be, so there’s a lot of work left to do.” 

“Yeah, but don’t you get it? It’s because of  _ you _ that she gets to live to fight another day, that she even has a chance to try. I know you’re being modest but honestly… I don’t know what happened in this universe that you ended up finding me, but I’m so thankful you did.” 

Dean yanks Cas into a hug, and if anyone ever asks, he’ll say it’s because Cas looked like he needed it, but the part he’ll never admit to is that he needs a reason to hide his face, the surge of gratitude he feels threatening to overwhelm him.  _ Come on, Dean. Get it together.  _

Cas seems to melt into the hug and when they pull apart, he looks at Dean. “I’m pretty sure you found me, not the other way around.” 

Dean takes a half-step back and locks his eyes onto Cas’s, wanting him to really hear what he’s about to say. 

“Either way, Cas, I’m in.”

“Wha- what?” Cas stutters. 

Not wanting there to be any misunderstanding, he’ll make it clear.

“If you wanna do this—” he waves a finger back and forth between the two of them for clarification, “— then I’m on board. And don’t think this has anything to do with The Roadhouse, either, because I’ve been willing to go all-in with you since the day you tried to burn my house down.” 

It’s comical the way Cas’s eyes flash wide and he huffs. “I didn’t—” 

Dean laughs, effectively cutting off whatever argument Cas was about to make about his cooking skills. “What do you say? Are we doing this? Because I’d really like to kiss you right now.” 

Cas’s eyes bore into him, searching, as though he’s trying to read between some invisible lines. The brief period of silence causes Dean’s heart to pound in his ears while he waits for a response, and then... 

“I’m in,” Cas says as he lunges forward, wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck and kissing him. 

Cas really is quite eager and it makes Dean’s insides spark and his skin buzz as he’s being shoved back against the nearest wall. Simply knowing that Cas wants him is enough to get going, so much so that he might even be a little embarrassed about how quickly the blood rushes to his dick if it weren’t for the way that he’s lost all ability to think full thoughts. 

With Dean’s back pushed against the wall, Cas’s arms unravel from around his neck and begin to roam over Dean’s body, sliding up his chest, over his shoulders, and down his arms. Dean keeps his own hands loosely at Cas’s hips, completely fine with letting Cas run the show for now. 

Their lips explore each other’s and Dean can’t hold back the moan that sneaks out when Cas adds his tongue into the mix. He’s panting and breathless by the time Cas decides he wants to start kissing along his jaw and neck, stopping to suck at the most sensitive areas. It’s not hard enough to leave marks, but it’s enough to make Dean dizzy. He lets his head fall back against the wall with a thud and relishes the way the air is thick with greedy excitement, Dean surrendering to all of Cas’s ministrations. 

“That feels so good, Cas,” he breathes, wanting to offer up some semblance of encouragement, though Cas apparently needs none at the moment. 

“I’ve thought... about this... for so... long...” Cas mumbles between focusing his attention on both sides of Dean’s neck equally, just above the collarbone. “You taste better than I imagined.” 

Dean yanks him back in for more kissing because their lips have been apart for too long as far as he’s concerned, and that needs to be rectified immediately. When it is, Cas presses Dean’s entire body against the wall with his own, their hips lining up just enough for Dean to shiver against the friction and discover that Cas is just as hard as he is. Dean wants to feel him. 

He slides a hand between them and cups Cas through his jeans, forcing a sinful groan to escape from Cas’s mouth as he darts his tongue back into Dean’s for more. With an idea in mind and pure  _ want _ coursing through his veins, Dean flips their position in a quick movement, keeping their lips together. His hands work at Cas’s jeans and when he’s got the button undone, he steps back a few inches and watches as Cas heaves against the wall, lips pink and swollen. 

Their gazes lock and  _ goddamn _ does Cas look good like this, all flushed and flustered, with eyes bright blue and wanting. Without having to ask, Cas moves his head in what can hardly be described as a nod, but it’s the permission Dean needs to keep going, so he slides the zipper down and drops to his knees.

Placing his hands on Cas’s hips, he steadies himself, pausing for a moment to let it register what’s happening, just in case Cas decides he wants to change his mind, but the hesitation is just as much for him as it is for Cas. Dean composes himself and then works to pull Cas’s jeans and briefs down low enough for his cock to bounce free. When it does, Dean has to take in a deep breath. 

If there was ever any concern that what Cas is packing wouldn’t live up to the hype the rest of his gorgeous body provides, there was no need. He’s beautiful, from head (to head) to toe, and he smells like cedarwood and rain clouds. Giving him one last opportunity to retract his consent before getting started, Dean looks up, and much to his satisfaction, Cas’s eyes are lust blown and his bottom lip is bitten between his teeth and  _ holy hell  _ does he look gloriously, deliciously sinful. 

Dean doesn’t waste anymore time. He wets his lips and takes Cas in his mouth, a spike of adrenaline rushing through him when Cas lets out a satisfying moan. He continues to work his way up and down Cas’s cock, swirling his tongue around the sensitive tip the best way he knows how, alternating between long drags of his tongue and quick bobs of his head, his thumbs rubbing at the crease where hips meet thighs, just to keep the stimulation interesting.

For the most part, Cas stays still, save for a few shallow, instinctual thrusts. He seems to be more focused on biting back all the little sounds that keep escaping him. Dean wishes he wouldn’t, but they can talk about that later. Right now, he’s a little too focused. 

He loosens his jaw and flattens his tongue, taking Cas all the way in until his cock head hits the back of his throat. He nearly gags, but it’s worth every single second when fingers slide along his scalp and grab a fistful of hair. It gives him the encouragement he needs to pick up the speed and when Cas’s knees buckle just slightly and he slides down the wall a few inches, Dean grabs his hips and pins him to it, continuing to work Cas’s dick all the way down. Suddenly, there’s a demanding tug on his hair and Cas is pulling him off with a wet pop. 

They’re both breathing heavily when Dean looks up, Cas taking his free hand to caress the side of his face with an open palm. Dean is so hard in his jeans that it’s damn near painful and he has to fight against the urge to squirm, to buck up against nothing. Then, gently, with one hand still in his hair, Cas rubs his thumb across Dean’s bottom lip, a look of pure lust darkening his eyes. It’s predatory and intimate at the same time, and it makes Dean go still, the anticipation strumming through his body like electricity ready to spark. He lets his jaw drop slightly open, allowing Cas to slip his thumb into his mouth and without breaking eye contact, Dean sucks on it, teasing and tasting it. 

Cas looks like he’s in a trance as he watches the movements of Dean’s lips. Dean feels caught under his spell.

Cas runs his thumb along the edge of Dean’s teeth as he steadily retracts his hand. With desire now coursing through his veins with a needy desperation Dean’s not sure he’s ever felt before, he takes Cas back into his mouth, satisfied to hear an “ _ oh fuck _ ” come from somewhere above him. The filthy, perfect moans don’t stop and it doesn’t take long before Cas says his name, frantic and insistent. Dean knows it’s both a warning and a request, so he looks up, squeezes Cas’s firm ass, and gives the best nod he can under the circumstances. A few more swipes of his tongue and Cas is coming down his throat, Dean swallowing every bit of it. 

He spends some time making sure Cas is clean, peppering him with light kisses to the tip of his dick, up the shaft, and over to the inside of his thighs, all while Cas comes down from his orgasm. He’s enjoying his exploration when two solid hands grab him by the shoulders and haul him up to his feet with impressive strength. 

Before he knows it, he’s being spun around and pressed up against the wall again, Cas kissing him, slipping his tongue inside where Dean knows Cas will be able to taste himself. It’s so hot that Dean’s head spins and he’s seeing stars, and he’s not even out of his pants yet. 

_ Fucking fuck, _ Cas makes him delirious. 

Then finally,  _ finally _ he feels friction in the form of Cas’s knee between his legs, and he grinds down with shameless neediness. Cas growls as he goes for his fly and while he’s practically bursting at the seams to get some release, he also just can’t get enough of  _ Cas _ . The taste of him still lingers on his lips and Dean wants more, and he wants it now. 

“Get in the shower with me,” he whispers while Cas is busy working his tongue over the spot behind Dean’s ear, making him twitch. A responsive hum into the side of his neck is the only coherent answer he’s going to get and it’s enough to send chills coursing throughout his limbs. 

They tumble into the bathroom and Dean turns the water on. While they wait for it to heat up they slow things down, undressing each other one article of clothing at a time, stopping occasionally to kiss and nip at each other’s newly exposed skin. 

“You’re so beautiful.” Cas’s words are as reverent as his touch. “Do you realize that?”

“Cas,  _ please _ .” He doesn’t know what he’s asking for but the words come out broken and they’re all he can manage while Cas continues to worship him, Dean’s entire body flushed under the attention. 

He tries to reciprocate the way Cas is so delicate but he feels clumsy by comparison. Thankfully, Cas doesn’t seem to mind, especially not when Dean hauls them into the shower and under the hot spray. After that, it’s nothing but roaming hands and heavy breathing. 

“I’ve wanted this too, you know,” Cas confesses, barely able to get the words out and sounding just as wrecked as Dean feels.

“I need you to touch me. Please, Cas. Just—  _ please _ .” He knows he’s begging now but he can’t find it in himself to care, and judging by the smile that splits across Cas’s face, he’s just been waiting for the green light. 

By the time Cas has grabbed the body soap and slowly worked it into a lather to use as a lube, Dean’s knees are trembling so much that he nearly sinks to the floor of the shower when Cas  _ finally  _ gets a fist around his dick. For a minute there, he was worried that maybe Cas wasn’t feeling up for it, which would have been totally fine (and not at all frustrating), but thank the holy heavens above that Cas was just being a tease. 

Once Cas starts working his cock, Dean loses whatever remaining function he has left. He wraps his arms around Cas’s back and rests his forehead on Cas’s shoulder. All he can do is watch himself get jacked off, Cas changing the rhythm just to make it last a little bit longer. It’s torturous in the most excruciatingly pleasurable kind of way, and when he feels that familiar build low in his gut, his nails dig into Cas’s back and he comes hard, stars in his eyes and Cas’s name echoing against the tile walls. 

Dean slouches after his body is wracked with little aftershocks and the strength in his limbs leaves him. Cas holds him up and runs a sudsy hand along his back. 

He chuckles when he finally feels stable enough to stand unsupported. 

“Cas, that was—” 

“Was that okay?” 

Dean looks at him confused because he can’t possibly be serious with that question. Not when he’s just had one of the best hand-jobs of his life (and not just because it’s been a really long time since someone else has touched him, but because it was Cas who was doing the touching). He’s had plenty of hand-jobs in his day, but certainly never one with a buildup quite like that, where the sensations alone made him feel like his head was going to float right off his own body. 

He leans in for another kiss, Cas’s shoulders relaxing at the touch. “It was more than okay. It was fucking perfect.” 

They end up washing each other and Dean finally has the opportunity to appreciate Cas’s body in a way he hasn’t before. He’s more tanned than Dean realized, golden skin running for miles across the muscular expanses of Cas’s back and torso. His legs are thick and solid and his shoulders are defined in a way that would surprise most people. Just the sight of him, naked and beautiful, it’s enough to make Dean’s mouth water and his dick twitch again. 

It only takes a small amount of coaxing, but after they get something to eat Dean convinces Cas to sleep in his bed, and even more triumphantly, Dean talks him into staying in it naked.

If he wakes up in the morning to find that this has all been a dream, he swears he’ll burn the entire world down. But when Cas falls asleep in the nook of his arm and begins to make soft cat-like purring noises while his hair tickles the bottom of Dean’s chin, he realizes that even in his wildest dreams he’d never be able to come up with someone as perfect as Cas. 

He falls asleep smiling. 

***

A thin stream of light breaks through the shutters on the window and lands across Dean’s face. It’s not strong enough to be blinding first thing in the morning, but it is enough to wake him slowly. When consciousness finally settles in, Dean blinks his eyes open and tries to identify the strange sensation in his extremities. It takes him a few moments, but he finally comprehends that it’s the unfamiliar yet spectacular feeling of having had a good night’s sleep -  _ damn, it’s been a while _ . Warm and content, Dean moves to stretch when it suddenly registers in his sleep-addled brain that there’s a body curled tightly to his back and an arm draped lazily over his hips. 

The last two days come rushing back to him in a kaleidoscope of memories, visions full of smiles and kisses and blue eyes and… happiness. A smile that’s quickly becoming all too familiar spreads wide across his face.

Cas stirs but doesn’t seem to wake, so Dean carefully turns under his arm to face him. The way Cas’s eyes scrunch, Dean can tell he’s on the verge of being alert, so he takes a moment to appreciate the (very naked) man in his bed. Cas’s features are soft and smooth in the morning light, an amusing contrast to his wild mess of dark hair sticking every which way. Dean forgoes running his hands through it to kiss Cas’s nose instead. Once, twice, and several more times before Cas’s annoyed mumbles turn to laughter and he finally opens his eyes. 

“Hello, Dean,” he says with a shy smile, his voice rough with sleep, and seriously? Can he get any more gorgeous?

“Mornin’, Sunshine. You sleep okay?”

Cas turns his head into the pillow and hums an affirmative. Then he grumbles something resembling the words “let’s go back to sleep.” 

Dean chuckles and when Cas doesn’t stop hiding his face, he gives him a gentle nudge, wanting to look him in the eyes as a way of making sure that Cas is still okay with everything, still happy with their decision to step over that line of friendship into something more. Thankfully, he complies easily, though maybe a little on the grumpy side which is actually adorable. In the back of his mind (but not too far back), Dean is aware that Cas is going to require reassurance as things progress, and he wants to provide that.

“I’ve been dying to know what your face looks like pressed against my pillow in the morning,” Dean confesses, resting his arm on top of the one Cas still has slung over his waist, running a hand over his golden skin. “It’s sexy as hell, in case you’re wondering.” 

“Deaaaaannnn,” Cas whines, embarrassed and trying to hide back into the pillow. 

But Dean will have none of that. “Oh no you don’t.” He pushes Cas’s shoulder into the mattress so he’s laying flat on his back, Dean rolling on top of him. “You don’t get to hide from me.” 

Cas tries his damndest to pout but he fails and his frown gives way to a bubble of laughter. “You realize that this isn’t the first time I’ve woken up in your bed, right?” 

“True, but it’s the first time you’ve been  _ naked _ and in my bed, and that’s what matters.” 

If Dean wasn’t already hard, he’s getting there now, and just to be a tease Cas wiggles his hips as a devilish grin appears. Dean lowers his head and kisses him hard. When he pulls back, that grin is gone and Dean feels stupidly proud of himself. That’ll show him. 

He pops up off the bed, surprisingly chipper for it being so early in the morning on a Wednesday. He goes to his dresser to pull out his clothes for work and when Cas doesn’t follow suit, Dean turns around. Cas has burrowed back into the sheets and is watching him intently, only his eyes and bed head visible from under the sheets.

“You like what you see or somethin’?” Dean winks. 

“Mmmm. Very much.” 

The way Dean’s heart actually soars is stupid. No one should be allowed to be this happy because a guy could really get used to this, and maybe Dean’s been falling for Cas for awhile, but this is all still very  _ very  _ new. 

“Come on, sleepy head,” he says, throwing a clean black t-shirt at Cas’s head, knowing he’ll probably wear it to work today. “I’ll make us breakfast before I go if you’ll put on the coffee.” 

It only takes Cas another ten minutes before he drags his grumbly but extremely perky ass out of bed.

When breakfast is over, Cas takes care of the dishes so Dean can get to work. As he heads out the door he gives Cas a chaste kiss on the lips. There’s no heat behind it, but it makes them both pause for a split second, the air in the room shifting ever so slightly. Dean shakes it off, and Cas seems to do the same, smiling at him as he leaves. 

Luckily, his work day passes fairly quickly and Bobby only catches him randomly smiling to himself a few times. He grumbles and rolls his eyes but mostly leaves well enough alone since Dean isn’t totally spacing out and is actually able to get work done. When Garth has to leave early for the day, Dean even volunteers to run the reception desk. Bobby finds that most suspicious of all, but he’s not about to argue it, either. 

It’s late into the afternoon when Dean’s back is turned to the front entrance and a familiar voice rings out. 

“Well hello there, handsome. I was beginning to wonder if you were still employed here.” 

“Hi, Mildred. How are you today?” Dean gives the older woman a charming smile and doesn’t miss the way her eyes wander up and down his body. 

“Oh, I’m just fine. Here to have my oil checked, is all,” she says, an air of innocence in her voice that Dean knows is anything but. 

“Mildred, we changed your oil two months ago. Have you even put more than 500 miles on your car since then?” 

“Well it’s making a noise and I’m not sure what it is,” she explains, matter of factly. 

“You parked by the garage? I’ll have Cesar give it a look and also ask him to check the oil to make sure you’re still good, how does that sound? Give me just a sec.” Dean calls Cesar on the garage phone to ask him to come to the front for a courtesy inspection. They’re all familiar with Mildred stopping by the shop, so their courtesy once-overs of her new and perfectly functioning vehicle is something they’re used to. 

“You know, there’s something different about you,” Mildred says while they wait. 

“Yeah? How so?” 

She waits a beat, like she’s thinking how best to respond. “I’ve learned a thing or two in my day, Dean, and one of those things is recognizing when somebody’s falling for somebody else.” 

He feels his face flush. “What?” he chokes out, ineloquently. 

“Oh, you sweet thing. My advice? Just follow your heart and know that whoever it is, they’re damn lucky if they’ve caught your eye.” 

Dean is left speechless when Cesar walks into the lobby, thankfully putting an end to the conversation before he gets even more red in the face. Cesar leads Mildred out the front door and she turns to give him a knowing wink before she’s out of sight and Dean is left feeling lightheaded. 

Not long after, he’s locking the front entrance door and flipping the ‘OPEN’ sign to ‘CLOSED’, suddenly feeling apprehensive about going back to the house. He texted Cas a few times during the day, some going unanswered and others receiving a short reply. If he’s being honest, he’s not entirely sure what it’s going to be like back at the house tonight. 

He tells himself he’s being ridiculous and runs through a list in his head of all the things he needs to make dinner. Satisfied that he can skip a trip to the store, he goes home and gets to making his famous BBQ cheeseburgers and sweet potato fries - so what if it’s Cas’s favorite? 

He’s working in the kitchen when he hears the front door open, a disappointed flutter nestling in his gut when Cas goes straight for his room before saying hello. It’s fine. Definitely too early to panic, he hopes. Nothing could’ve happened in the last ten hours or so to turn Cas completely off of him, right? He’s still standing at the stove and shaking out his stupid nerves when he senses Cas is standing behind him. He lets out a silent sigh when the pair of arms he half expects to wrap around him never come.

“Dean. Can we talk?” 

His heart drops. Those words are never promising. “Sure, Cas. What’s up?” he says, trying to sound much less flustered than he actually is while turning to face his… roommate? Friend? Something else? It’s still unclear where exactly they stand. 

“You— I mean, uh— can we—” Cas’s hands are twisting in front of him and he’s struggling to put words together. 

“Whatever it is, you can say it. I’ve earned that trust by now, haven’t I?” Dean doesn’t realize that he’s already hurting until the words come out harsher than he intended. 

Cas’s eyes grow big at the implied accusation. “Of course you have. It’s not that— it’s just—” he sighs. “— I still want to take this slow.” He looks at Dean like he’s ashamed and then breaks eye contact to stare at the floor. 

“Is… is that all? That’s what you wanted to talk about?” Cas nods and Dean feels relief wash over him. “Cas, we’ve talked about this. I’m more than okay with any pace that you want to go. Whatever you need, just talk to me. Is this about last night?”

“Well, not exactly. I mean, kind of? Please don’t get me wrong, last night was great. Incredible, actually, but—” Cas lets out a frustrated grunt at the fact that he can’t seem to get his thoughts in order, so Dean gives him time, “—I didn’t want you to get the idea that… that I was just being coy when I initially said that.” 

“Hey, listen to me.” He moves closer to hold Cas by the shoulders. “I want you to feel comfortable, and just because I’ve seen the goods doesn’t mean that I suddenly think it’s a free-for-all. I just need you to understand that as for me? I’m game. I’m open for whatever whenever, so if you want something, you need to ask. Capeesh?” 

Cas nods. “I capeesh.” 

“Good. So how about I get back to these burgers and then we can turn on reruns of  _ Dr. Sexy _ ?”

“I’d like that very much,” Cas says with a smile warming his face. 

Dean feels like he can breathe again. “Can I kiss you now? Because you are very cute when you’re nervous.” 

Cas rolls his eyes through a bashful laugh. “Only if you let me make a slight amendment to our agreement.” 

“And what’s that?” 

“Kissing is always acceptable.” 

It’s Dean’s turn to laugh and they spend the next several minutes making out against the kitchen counter. The fries almost burn but he couldn’t possibly care less while he’s busy being preoccupied with Cas’s full lips and his sneaky tongue. 

Acceptable indeed. 

***

The rest of the week is pretty mellow, though there’s no shortage of couch cuddles and random makeout sessions. Things get overheated a few times but Cas always calls it off before it gets anywhere near as far as it did on Tuesday night, and Cas always heads off to bed in his own room. 

True to his word, Dean is extra vigilant in respecting Cas’s needs. He may not be able to help a couple of whiny groans that escape when he’s left hard and panting, but he’s sure to bite back the complaints as best as he can, not wanting Cas to feel like he’s being pressured. More than once he has to escape into an extra long shower just to take the edge off, but he’s willing to do what is necessary. Dean wonders if Cas does the same. 

On Thursday, Dean asks him on an official date and when Cas agrees (his face turning a beautiful shade of pink), Dean makes a reservation at the restaurant Charlie had suggested weeks ago, the one right on the water called The Tidepool. Friday evening, Dean drives them to Bagyo Bay and they luck out on some perfect weather. 

Before going to the restaurant they stop by Donna’s for a bag of taffy. This time, they pick their own flavors instead of going for the awful assorted bag. Much to Dean’s dismay, Cas still chooses to add the banana flavor, but the gummy, childlike grin on his face when he sneaks one into his mouth before they’ve even paid is worth all the taffy in the universe. 

Donna, in typical Donna fashion, jumps out from behind the counter to greet them, throwing her arms around them both in turn and being anything but chill about it. She and Dean had a conversation earlier in the week where he let slip (some of) the details of what had happened. He and Cas had previously agreed to let their respective besties in on the news while otherwise keeping it to themselves for now, and if truth be told, Dean was excited to be able to talk to someone about it. He hopes that Cas feels the same in being able to confide in Charlie, too.

At dinner, Dean is very careful, noting the way Cas seems to be uneasy, his eyes constantly darting around the restaurant. Cas hasn’t quite been able to express it in so many words, but Dean’s gotten enough of a gist to understand that he’s not entirely comfortable with being  _ out _ yet. 

“Hey. Look at me,” Dean says after they’ve been seated at a table with a view of the bay fit for a postcard and Cas has yet to settle down. “You can relax. This town is more progressive than it seems. Besides, you’re safe with me, okay? I promise. But if it would make you feel more comfortable, we can just be casual. I won’t try to hold your hand or do anything obvious. We can just be us.” 

“No.” Cas snaps back, shaking his head like he’s trying to rid himself of bad thoughts. “I don’t want that at all. It’s just… I’ve spent my whole life hiding, and it may take me some time before I don’t feel quite so anxious about it, but I want to be here with you, and  _ not  _ as friends.”

“Like I said, Cas; your pace, your rules.”

Cas’s smile is blinding when Dean slides their hands together across the table, interlocking their fingers. After that, they hardly let go long enough to eat. 

They have their dinner and then watch the sunset from Seabreeze Point (and ten points for Winchester for that awesome idea because  _ damn  _ does his heart melt when Cas squeezes his hand and pulls him in for a kiss just as the sun dips below the horizon line. Every chick flick in history can suck it because this is so much better than every single one of them). 

He drives home with Cas sidled up next to him, his arm hanging over Cas’s shoulder while Cas lazily rubs a thumb along his palm, sneaking occasional kisses to his cheek as he navigates the narrow road. 

The date is so sweet and leisurely and innocent that Dean fully expects to end it with a kiss before he goes to bed alone again, but he’s proven very wrong the second they get back inside the house and the door closes behind them. 

Dean hardly has a chance to comprehend what’s going on before his shirt is fisted in Cas’s hands and he’s being shoved up against the back of the couch with a growl. 

“Whoa, hey. Thought you wanted to go slow, Cas,” he says behind a wolfish grin. 

“Dean Winchester, you are very cute, but so help me god, if you don’t get your pants off right this second—” 

Dean Winchester does not need to be told twice.


	12. Chapter 12

Three months. It’s been three months since he and Dean kissed for the first time. Three wonderful, perfect, indescribable months. 

Castiel has basically been walking on air ever since that night in the piano room, his head constantly in a state of disbelief. It would be wrong to say that everything has been easy, but any difficulty has been at the fault of his own shortcomings. As much as he’d like to believe that he’s stronger than the demons of his past, that he’s moved on from them with the intent of creating a new life for himself, the reality is that he’s still been struggling. He knows that his relationship with Cole and the fight with his family isn’t exactly a distant memory, so having to grapple with the repercussions of those events shouldn’t be particularly surprising, but each day it feels like he’s leaving all that just a little further behind him.

The world he lives in now, the one with Dean, Charlie, Donna, Benny, and everyone else he’s learned to call his friends, is such a stark contrast to his life from only, what? Five months ago? Maybe six? Some days it’s so easy to embrace what’s right in front of him, to black out that rearview mirror into the past and to forget that a version of himself also exists outside of this town and the people in it. 

Other days, however, it’s not quite so simple. On other days, the deprecating self-doubt that has plagued him since childhood reaches up to pull him under, trying to drown him with the voices of his mother and Michael, of Cole and even of himself. It tells him he’s not good enough, not worthy enough. It reminds him that he’s different, a disappointment, and wholly undeserving of affection. It haunts him with whispers that none of what he sees is real. 

Some days, he listens to the whispers. On the worst days, he believes them.

Dean is perfect, though. He’s patient and understanding, and he never pressures Castiel to move faster or go further than he’s comfortable. When Castiel is struggling with his own confidence or wrestling with scepticism over their new relationship, Dean is more than tolerant, always willing to wait it out while he gets his head back on straight. In fact, Dean can sometimes get a little too delicate with the way he treats him, but Castiel will never say a word about it because that would be an insult to his efforts. 

It’s definitely not his intention to play Dean hot and cold in the way that he knows he sometimes does, and he thinks that Dean realizes that, but it isn’t easy to go from one extreme to the other. Something that helped him move past his initial fears was officially coming out to Dean’s friends. Considering Dean’s bisexualtiy and the fact that Charlie is openly gay, he knew that the people closest to Dean (and therefore closest to him) wouldn’t particularly care about his sexuality, and he kinda gathered that everyone had a bit of an idea about it already anyway. So the scarier part was coming out as being in a  _ relationship _ with Dean. 

Even though Charlie and Donna were ecstatic and enthusiastically supportive, he was afraid to assume that that would be the general consensus. He was especially nervous about Ellen’s reaction. What if she hated the idea or thought that someone like Castiel wasn’t good enough for the man she raised? What if she thought it was a conflict of interest with his working at the Roadhouse? He shared these concerns with Dean but after Castiel glared at him for laughing, Dean took the time to reassure him that no one would have a problem with them being boyfriends. 

And there it was, just like that -  _ boyfriends _ .

The word tasted rich and almost forbidden rolling off his tongue, like an indulgence that had been kept from him for so long. Castiel had tried a few times to use the moniker with Cole, but Cole always hated it, said that he didn’t _believe in labels_ and that it didn’t matter anyway because they were never out in public. Castiel remembered thinking then that he’d never be able to come out, never be able to have a normal relationship and be forever stuck sneaking around in empty conference rooms and dark parking garages. Then Dean came along and said the word with such casual conviction that it made Castiel dizzy. 

Dean asked permission first, because of course he did, and then began introducing Castiel as his boyfriend. It didn’t matter how many times Dean said it, he felt his cheeks turn pink for every single one of them. Most of their friends smiled and gave some sort of anecdote about how “it was about time” or they “totally knew it.” The only one who seemed genuinely in the dark about it all was Ash, and he simply gave them high-fives before buying them a round of beer.

When Ellen and Bobby found out, he was invited to the following Sunday family dinner where he was subject to the Singer/Harvell inquisition. It was fairly harmless and Dean, smooth as ever, helped him navigate away from the more prying questions, so when all was said and done, he realized his worries were for naught and things just got easier after that. He and Dean attended more family dinners together, went on a double-date with Benny and his new girlfriend, and continued going on their own dates, exploring the surrounding cities or staying close to home. 

His favorite date spot has become Bagyo Bay, much to Dean’s delight. He sees why Dean loves the place so much. There’s a charm to the small community on the water that’s rare to find and difficult to replicate. He’d almost go so far as to wonder if it has some kind of magic or healing power, because every time they return from time spent in Bagyo, he seems to fall for Dean just a little bit more, seems to feel a little less broken.

It was after one of those dates in Bagyo that Castiel decided that he’d had enough of “going slow” and of second guessing himself as much as he had been. They’d gotten caught in a summer storm and it was all Castiel’s fault. Dean saw the clouds coming in and he warned Castiel that the storm was a lot closer than it looked, but he’d wanted to walk a little further along the sand before turning back. By the time they reached the car, the rain had already started to fall and it was coming down in droves before they even hit the highway. Thunder boomed so loudly that it made the ground shake while lightning lit up the empty road. The drive was a harrowing one, and Dean’s knuckles turned white against the steering wheel as he navigated the winding road against nature’s wrath. At one point, the car fishtailed and for a split second Castiel thought they were going to spin out. Dean managed to keep them on the road, though Castiel didn’t miss the way Dean’s shoulders heaved at the close call. 

The storm chased them inland, just like it had on the first night Dean brought Castiel into his home. Adrenalin was still coursing through them when they pulled in the drive, so much so that he had to coax Dean out of the car and into the house. When they got inside, he kissed Dean gently, apologizing for his error in judgement and thanking him for getting them home safely. Dean returned the kiss and deepened it with surprising intensity. They peeled off their wet clothes in a frantic tumble of limbs, the air heavy with lustful groans and electricity. 

Castiel let Dean lead them to his bedroom where Dean lay on top of him while the pace of their desires slowed. They were naked and grinding together, enjoying the feel of each other's bodies as they explored one another. Dean looked at him like he was a book he couldn’t wait to read and Castiel had never felt so vulnerable, never so trusting. He allowed Dean to kiss up and down his body, taking his time in different areas as he whispered about all the ways that Castiel amazes him. When he would try to hide his face, Dean would tsk at him and then kiss him senseless just to prove some kind of point. 

He was so turned on, but all he wanted was for Dean to take the lead. Castiel didn’t want to have to think or analyze or worry about what was happening, he just wanted to let it happen, and when Dean took hold of his hand and slid it down to his ass, guiding Castiel’s fingers along his entrance, he understood what Dean was asking. 

Dean grabbed some lube from the bedside table and then Castiel flipped them so Dean was on his back. He opened Dean up slowly with his fingers, trying to memorize the look on Dean’s face as he found pleasure in the sensation, and when he was done, Dean was a beautiful, writhing mess beneath him. 

“Please, Cas. I want you to fuck me,” he begged, and there was no way in hell that Castiel was going to say no. 

He held Dean’s hips steady as he slipped inside, giving Dean time to adjust as he entered him slowly. The sensation coupled with the knowledge of what was happening was so overwhelming that he had to close his eyes and squeeze the base of his own cock to keep himself under control. Dean’s squirming and needy little bucks of his hips snapped him out of it and he began to move. 

“You are so fucking perfect,” he heard himself say, and when Dean responded with an actual whimper, he let himself fall forward, holding himself above Dean, his hands bracketing Dean’s head. 

Dean reached up to caress his face and run his fingers through Castiel’s hair. “Don’t ever leave, Cas,” he whispered back, his words cracking. “Stay here. Always.” 

Castiel leaned down to kiss him, hoping to express exactly what those words meant to him through the slide of his tongue and the gentle movement on his body on top of Dean’s. Wind, thunder, and lightning continued to wreak havoc on the world outside, but inside their house and on top of the sheets, only their whispered words and panted breaths could be heard. When Castiel reached a hand between them to stroke Dean to completion, they came together in a tidal wave of heated ecstasy and exploding stars. 

Castiel fell asleep in Dean’s arms that night knowing without a doubt that there was nowhere else he wanted to be and that he was tired of holding himself back, of holding  _ them _ back, and when the dawn broke on a new day, things between him and Dean were different…  _ better _ .

He still has bad days, sure, and Dean is always understanding when he does, but he hasn’t regretted for a single second letting Dean in, letting himself have something he wants, something he needs. 

All around, things are pretty damn great. 

He’s smiling to himself and thinking about the vulgar (but sexy) note Dean left for him on the coffee pot this morning as he unlocks the front door to The Roadhouse. Benny is already there, having shown up early to do a specialized cataloging of their inventory, part of the new system Castiel implemented so he can better analyze stock flow and identify monetary waste. 

“Well don’t you look chipper this morning. What’s gotten into you?” Benny stops and reconsiders his words. “Nevermind. I’m actually quite sure I don’t want to know.” 

“Good Morning, Benny. How’s inventory coming along?” he says, ignoring the comments altogether but still grinning.

“Can’t complain. I definitely did when the alarm went off this morning but on the flip side, I’ll be out of here in plenty of time to take Andrea to that restaurant in Bagyo Bay that you and Dean keep recommending.”

“Don’t forget to order the—”

“The calamari, yes, I remember,” Benny says with a laugh. Apparently he and Dean talk about the place more than he realizes, but how can he help it? It’s kinda become  _ their spot _ . 

“Sorry, I’ll let you get back to work.” 

As Castiel heads towards the hallway, Benny stops him. “Hey, uh, Steve? You got a second before you go disappearing into Ellen’s office for the day?” 

It’s still a little strange sometimes how their working dynamics have changed. Benny taught Castiel everything he knows about being a server and a bartender, but now that he’s the accountant and the word is out that he’s highly educated, Castiel is no longer looked at as a subordinate. 

“Of course. What can I do for you?” He has no idea what Benny wants, but he’s interested to find out considering the hesitation in his voice. 

“Remember how we talked once about how I wanted to open my own restaurant someday? Well, I think it’s time that I start planning for it, not just talking about it. You get me?” 

“I think that’s wonderful, Benny. It’s always smart to have a solid business plan for these things.”

“And that’s just it. I was hoping that, maybe, if you’re up for it, we could sit down and you could help me get started with a financial plan. I see the way you’re turning this place around with Ellen and I thought— well, I thought maybe you could help me.”

That wasn’t at all what Castiel was expecting, but he’s happy for his friend. “Benny—”

“I would pay you,” Benny interrupts. “I shoulda said that from the start. I’m not asking for free advice or nothin’, just a chance for you to look over what I have already and tell me if I’m going in the right direction.” He looks eager, but there’s humility there, too. Castiel has always seen Benny as a strong, independent man who’s willing to take charge to get a job done, but he’s not so prideful as to not ask for help when he needs to.

“I was just going to say that I’d be happy to help. We can come up with some sort of agreement at a later time, but if you’re serious and you’re ready to do this soon, text me some options for a meeting time and we’ll work it out.” 

“Will do, brother. Thank you.” 

“Of course.” 

“So are you going to the bonfire next Friday?” Benny asks as he gets back to work shifting cases of beer into stacks organized by expiration date. 

“What bonfire?”

“Oh, uh… you know what, that’s probably not my place. You better ask Dean about it.” 

Benny looks away and focuses his attention on the beer, avoiding eye contact. Castiel gets the distinct impression that Benny just said something he wasn’t supposed to, so he continues up to the office and doesn’t see Benny for the rest of the day. 

When he gets home that night, Dean is finishing up making them dinner. Castiel greets him with a quick kiss on the cheek before taking a shower and changing into more comfortable clothes, then setting the table for the two of them. About halfway through their meal, he gets the courage to ask the question that’s been on his mind since this morning. 

“Hey, Dean? Is there a bonfire happening next Friday?” 

Dean stops eating for a second, clearly caught off guard by the question. He takes a moment to chew the food left in his mouth, swallowing audibly, and then takes a drink of water. “I’ve been meaning to bring that up to you.” 

That little demon of doubt niggles it’s way into the back of Castiel’s brain, the one that suggests that he’s not wanted, that he’s being left out, or worse, that Dean’s keeping secrets from him. He squashes the demon, ignoring it for the sake of reminding himself that he hasn’t even given Dean a chance to respond yet. He’s getting better at this. 

“Benny mentioned something this morning and when I didn’t know what he was talking about, he got quiet. Said I should ask you. Should… should I not know about it?”

“It’s not that. It’s just— it’s a family thing and—” 

“Oh. I see.” He hears the hurt behind his own words. Maybe that demon is right afterall. It’s a  _ family  _ thing, and he is not that. “Apologies. I didn’t mean to pry.” 

“Would you stop that already? You’re not prying and family means you, too, Cas.” Dean must recognize something in Castiel’s facial expression because his own softens. “I didn’t know how to bring it up to you. It ain’t exactly a party and I wasn’t sure you’d want to come anyway.” 

Over the rest of their dinner and through the cleanup, Dean tells him all about the bonfire and its significance. 

Castiel learns that before Ellen adopted the Winchester boys and before she had a relationship with Bobby, Ellen was married and had a daughter of her own; they were Bill and Joanna Beth, “Jo” for short. Castiel recognizes them as the people pictured in an old frame in her office, a photograph of a young man and a small child. The little girl is wearing a pink life vest and standing proudly next to her father with a goofy smile on her face, the two of them standing on a dock with a sailboat behind them. Castiel had never paid much mind to the photo, always feeling like a bit of an intruder in Ellen’s office. She never volunteered the information either, so Castiel never asked. 

One afternoon, Bill took Jo sailing on his sailboat, something they’d done a hundred times together already. Ellen stayed home that day because she wasn’t feeling well. Bill loved to sail and Jo was following right along in his footsteps... but they never made it home from that trip. The wreckage of the boat was discovered two days later after an extensive search by friends, family, and the Coast Guard. Jo was just two years old at the time. 

“Ellen doesn’t talk about it much and she’s never been out on the water since,” Dean finishes, sadness weighing down his voice. “Sam and I used to beg her to take us out on the water, but letting us play on the beach was all she could manage, and even that was a hard sell. Bobby would take us out fishing sometimes, but we weren’t allowed to talk about it in front of her.”

“That’s heartbreaking, Dean. I had no idea.”

“It’s been a long time, but I know she’s still haunted by their memory. I think she still feels guilty that she wasn’t on that boat with them. Survivor’s guilt and all.” 

“I can’t even imagine.” Castiel never really knows what to say in these situations. With his strict Catholic upbringing, most death-related commentary always revolved around Heaven, Hell and the Bible. Funerals and memorials were always full of elderly churchgoers in the community doling out unsolicited words of holy wisdom, but something tells Castiel that none of that would be relevant here, so he doesn’t have much to offer. 

“Anyway, that’s what the bonfire is for. Every year on the anniversary of Bill and Jo’s deaths, the family and some close friends drive out to the same spot on the beach. Sometimes we bring food, other times we don’t, it usually depends on the weather. But we watch the sunset together around a bonfire and then, when it’s dark, we light floating lanterns and release them into the sky as a memorial. Sam even makes sure to order the biodegradable ones now.”

Dean’s still washing the remaining few dishes in the sink when Castiel comes up behind him and slips his arms around Dean’s waist, pressing his chest to his back. “That sounds like a lovely way to honor her family,” he says quietly over Dean’s shoulder. “I take it the anniversary is on Friday?” 

Dean nods his head up and down, his cheek brushing against Castiel’s. “And in case Benny hasn’t warned you, Ellen kinda shuts down on the day.” Dean drops his hands down into the suds, letting the pot he’s washing clang to the bottom. Castiel squeezes him tighter. “It’s the only day of the year she is guaranteed not to step foot in The Roadhouse. All other 364 days she’s non-stop and headstrong, but on the anniversary, she sometimes doesn’t ever say a word. We all just kinda let her be.”

“I’m sure she appreciates you all being there for her, though. Sometimes it’s someone’s presence that matters most, not their words.” Dean nods against him again in agreement, or at least in understanding. “Here, let me finish this up,” he says, unwrapping his arms and handing Dean a towel to dry his hands so they can switch places. “Why don’t you put the kettle on and then go settle on the couch. I’ll make us some tea and meet you out there.”

Taking the offered towel, Dean complies and goes to fill the electric kettle. His movements are slow and Castiel can tell that he’s hovering, trying to stay close. It’s something Castiel has noticed he does when he’s feeling vulnerable, when he wants to say something but isn’t sure how. He lets Dean work up to it. 

“So um… would you want to go? To the bonfire? You definitely don’t have to and I understand completely if it’s not your cup of tea—” he snickers at his own pun, “—but Sam will be in town for it and he’s bringing Sarah and I know—” 

“Dean.” Castiel cuts him off gently. “I’d be honored, just as long as Ellen won’t mind.” 

“She won’t”

“Then I’ll be there with you.” Castiel kisses him on the nose and the smile that emerges afterwards makes him remember for the millionth time that he’d do just about anything Dean asked of him if that meant getting one of those smiles in return. It’s absolutely absurd the lengths he’d be willing to go, honestly.

Friday rolls around and Castiel learns quickly that Dean hadn’t been exaggerating. Ellen spent all of Thursday scurrying around the bar and her office making sure everything was set for her to be gone the next day, and by the end of the afternoon, Castiel could feel the air shift, like a changing of the guard. Ellen made sure Castiel was set and then reviewed some last minute details with Benny before promptly leaving. She made herself scarce until the bonfire. 

It’s a nice evening, the sun’s warmth holding on for longer than usual, settling into the sand and making it so that hoodies and blankets are kept in their vehicles even as the light fades. There’s a roaring fire burning in the cement fire pit with camping chairs set up around it and a table nearby with sandwiches and snacks for the small group. Sam is back in town for a short while and Sarah is with him. The entire family, Castiel included, officially met her two days ago when they arrived. They’re staying with Bobby and Jody, though Dean did offer them Castiel’s room considering that he spends most nights in Dean’s bed anyway. Sam seemed like he’d wanted to say yes, but Bobby’s house is bigger and at that house Sarah wouldn’t have to be subjected to sharing a small bathroom with three men. It made the most sense. 

Bobby and Jody are there as well as Donna and someone that Castiel recognizes as a regular at the bar, Rufus. When he asks about it, Dean explains that Rufus and Bobby were both friends with Bill, and Donna is there because she and her mother used to have play-dates with Ellen and Jo. Donna was barely old enough to remember but when she became friends with Dean years later, everyone accepted that she was always going to be part of the family. 

As Dean warned, Ellen is quiet and withdrawn while everyone else talks and laughs and catches up with one another. Dean is telling him about the final touches he needs to put on his truck to make it drivable when Sam picks up his chair and sets it across from theirs.

“Hiya Sammy,” Dean says. 

“Come on, Dean. I’m an adult and in college. It’s  _ Sam _ .” 

“Whatever you say, Sammy.” Dean flashes a cocky grin as Sam rolls his eyes. 

Castiel enjoys watching the brothers interact even if it makes him mourn for the relationship he never had with his own, and even if Dean has jokingly promised that he can borrow Sam as an annoying brother any time he wants. After Sam was brought up to speed by Ellen about what was going on with The Roadhouse, Sam in turn called Dean and with Castiel joining in on speakerphone, apologies were made and forgiveness was granted. Ever since then, Castiel and Sam have started to become friends, something Charlie manages to use to her advantage whenever possible. 

“You really think it’s safe to leave Sarah alone over there with Rufus?” Dean asks. 

Sam glances back at her and smiles. “Trust me, she can handle herself. I’m more worried about Rufus, actually.” 

While the brothers banter, Castiel’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He fishes it out and sees that it’s a text from Benny with a list of times he’s available to meet to talk about his restaurant. He’s still texting when Dean nudges his thigh with his foot. Castiel glances up to see that Sam’s been called to another conversation by Bobby and Dean is looking at him curiously.

“Is that Charlie bugging you? I told her she was welcome to join us.” 

“No, it’s Benny.”

Dean sits up and leans closer, dropping his voice low enough so that no one can overhear. “Is everything okay at The Roadhouse?”

“Everything’s fine. This isn’t about the bar. I meant to tell you the other day, but Benny asked me to meet with him to review his financial plan for his restaurant. He’s texting me so we can set up a time to get together.” 

There’s a look of surprise on Dean’s face and Castiel hopes he hasn’t said something out of place. “He’s finally doing it? That dude’s been talking about a restaurant since we were in high school.” 

“Yes, I believe he’s quite serious, but I’ll know more after we meet.” 

“And he asked you for help? Are you okay with that? Because if this isn’t something you’re comfortable with, I can talk to him and—”

“It’s fine, Dean. I’m quite excited about it, actually.” Castiel can’t ignore the way his heart flutters at Dean immediately jumping to his defence. No matter how many times it happens and no matter how small the issue, he still isn’t used to it. 

“Excited? Really? To go through someone’s boring business plan?” 

“Dean,” Castiel chastises. “It’s what I do. It’s what I’m  _ good at _ . And Benny even offered to pay me for our meeting. I won’t take his money, of course, but the thought of being able to use my expertise to be able to help someone like Benny get his business going? It’s only the second time in my adult life that I’ll be able to truly enjoy putting my MBA to use.” 

“When’s the first?” Dean asks, sounding genuinely interested as opposed to teasing. 

“Helping Ellen with The Roadhouse.” Castiel smiles when Dean looks surprised at the answer. “Working with her, it’s been quite a privilege and it’s given me a real purpose. My job suddenly feels like it means something, like it can help someone. So yes, I’d say I’m quite excited about working with Benny.” He gets worried when Dean doesn’t say anything and just stares at him, smiling back. “What? Say something. Are you not okay with this?”

“I’m more than okay with it, Cas. I’m just admiring the way your whole face lit up talking about it. I never realized how much this meant to you and I’m so happy it does.”

“I don’t think I realized how much it did either, but now that another opportunity has presented itself, I’m eager to take it.” Castiel has been turning these thoughts over in his head for days, sitting with the idea of his meeting with Benny. Part of him assumed he’d eventually regret his decision to agree to it at all, but the more he thinks about it, the more he finds himself looking forward to it. 

Dean leans in and gives him a light kiss on the lips, filling him with even more confidence now that he knows Dean is behind him. 

Once the sun goes completely down, revealing a dark sky spattered with more stars than he’s ever seen, Castiel notices the mood begin to change. Chairs are scooted closer together and voices get quieter, less animated. The temperature finally drops and the breeze coming in off the water is chilly, so Dean and Donna grab blankets from the back of Donna’s truck and pass them around, Dean also bringing Castiel his maroon hoodie. Dean told him once that it was his favorite and ever since then, Castiel finds that hoodie miraculously packed whenever they go somewhere they might need the extra layer, which is quite often considering the local climate. 

From then, it’s not long before Bobby gets up and walks over to Ellen who’s been sitting a ways off from the group staring out across the ocean. 

“It’s about that time,” Bobby announces, and Sam jumps up to help him hand out the lanterns. As the tradition goes, Ellen lights two, one for Bill and another for Jo. She releases them first, everyone else releasing one each shortly after. 

Castiel hears Sam explaining to Sarah the significance behind the lanterns. 

“It’s a type of memorial mixed with folklore,” Sam says. “The idea is that the lanterns will light the way for wayward sailors lost at sea to find their way home, like a spiritual lighthouse.”

Sarah lets out a small gasp. “That’s sad and beautiful all at the same time.” 

They release their lanterns and then he and Dean do the same. He watches them float upwards, soft yellow globes of light shining against the inky black sky, getting smaller as they rise higher. Without a second thought, he blindly reaches out and finds Dean’s hand, threading their fingers together to share in the moment. Dean squeezes it. Sarah is right, the lights are beautiful in their melancholy. 

When he looks over to say as much to Dean, Castiel doesn’t just lose all sensibility, he simply forgets how to breathe. Dean has his chin raised and head tilted back watching the lanterns. He looks wistful, his features sharp but his green eyes soft. Maybe it’s the aura hanging over them or maybe it’s the way Dean’s freckles seem to dance in the flickering light of the fire, but Castiel is overwhelmed by the man next to him, so much so that his heart feels like it’s about to burst right out of his chest.

They’ve come so far together and to say that what he’s feeling is gratitude or appreciation or fondness... it’s accurate, but not nearly enough. The way Castiel warms from the inside out when he looks at Dean, the way he can feel some sort of energy course throughout his body by the simple gesture of holding his hand, it’s so much  _ more _ . 

Castiel has known it for a while now, he’s just been too afraid to put a name to it, to offer it an identity, but he can no longer deny it.

He’s in love with Dean Winchester. 

***

Throughout the following week, Castiel and Dean are kept quite busy. Between meetups with Sam and Sarah, Dean having to put in overtime at the shop, and a surprise inspection of The Roadhouse by the Fire Marshal (which they pass thanks to the recent inventory overhaul and the reorganization of the stock room), they barely feel like they have time to get their feet under them. 

On Tuesday, Castiel meets with Benny at the library in one of the private study rooms. It isn’t anything official, just a chance for Castiel to take a preliminary look at Benny’s idea and his business plan, but he’s quickly impressed. Benny presents a well thought out plan, has a good handle on the financials, and has clearly done quite a bit of research. Castiel takes Benny’s binder home with him with the promise to review it in even more detail after they agree to meet again at a later date to suss out a feasible timeline. By the end of it, Benny’s hugging Castiel in thanks and has a smile so big that it’s contagious. When he gets home, even Dean asks him what he’s grinning so big about, and after Castiel yanks him into the shower and drops to his knees for an enthusiastic blowjob, Castiel isn’t the only one left with a dopey smile. 

They lay in bed afterwards, satiated and warm and reading together, something they started doing a few weeks back when Castiel wanted to spend time with Dean but without the constant noise of the television. Dean was reluctant at first, all too used to the television as his nightly crutch, but he ultimately texted Charlie for a book recommendation she thought he would enjoy. Now Dean’s on the fifth Harry Potter book and most nights even prefers reading over monotonous reruns of the same few shows. It’s been wonderful and Castiel’s chest feels like it’s going to burst every time they climb in bed and Dean eagerly reaches for a book. Can his boyfriend be any more perfect? Castiel thinks not. 

When he senses that Dean’s stopped reading, he glances over to find Dean staring at him. 

“What?” Castiel asks, unable to help himself. 

“Nothin’,” Dean says in a way that definitely does not mean  _ nothing _ , so Castiel squints at him until he gets an answer. “Anyone ever tell you how fucking hot you are with your glasses?” 

“Deeaan.” He feels his entire face turn crimson. 

Dean laughs and reaches across the bed to cover him in kisses. Castiel sinks into the mattress, enjoying every single one of them. After the kissing ends, Dean grabs his book again and curls up under his arm, making himself comfortable against Castiel’s side when Castiel is reminded of something he’d thought about earlier. 

“Hey Dean?” 

“Hmmm?” 

“You think you could make me a desk?” 

Dean slowly closes the book again as he leans his head back to look up at him. “What do you mean?” 

“Well, I asked Sam if he’d remove some of his boxes from the shed, the ones we moved in there from my bedroom before it was my bedroom. He’s agreed to do that this week, along with Ellen’s boxes, too.” He takes a short pause here, really hoping he’s not overstepping his bounds. “So I was just thinking… that would open up that shed to your workbench again and, well, maybe you’d want to get back to your woodworking?”

“Oh, uh… Sam was okay with it?” Dean sounds hesitant but not angry, and he supposes that’s a good sign. 

“He did. Said he was happy to do it.” Dean settles back against his shoulder but doesn’t open his book. “If you don’t want to, that’s perfectly fine. It’s just that I’d like to put a desk in my room, something small. I can always buy one, but I just thought—” 

“Okay, Cas. If Sammy moves those boxes, I can make you a desk if it’s what you want,” Dean answers with a chaste kiss to the bottom of Castiel’s jaw. 

The words are soft and sincere and Castiel’s heart melts all over again. He kisses the top of Dean’s head and when he does, he almost says it, almost let’s it slip out, but he doesn’t. In fact, with each day that passes, the struggle to keep the words in is a constant, nerve wracking battle. 

Now that his heart has finally told his brain how insanely, stupidly in love he is, he can’t escape the thought and the all-consuming energy of it. It’s not necessarily that he  _ wants  _ to escape it, just that he doesn’t know how to keep it contained. He decided shortly after the bonfire that he’s not ready to say the words to Dean out loud, mostly because he’s a big fat coward. What if Dean doesn’t love him back? What if Dean still expects Castiel to leave for Los Angeles and he’s just having his fun until then? 

The very logical, rational part of his brain tells him he’s being ridiculous and that it’s just his doubt-demon trying to sabotage what he’s built with Dean, but the other part of him is convinced that his fears are a very real possibility. So he keeps his mouth shut because what he has now, it’s pretty perfect, and so what if he loves Dean and doesn’t say it out loud? Would that really change anything anyway? They’re happy and things are falling into place. Why would he want to screw that up? 

So he goes on loving Dean, hoping that someday Dean might love him back. 

***

Another Sunday night finds everyone back at The Roadhouse. It’s become their group’s hangout spot and even though Ellen gumbles sometimes or makes comments like she’s annoyed, everyone knows she loves it and loves having her bar as the place where Dean and Sam come to spend time with their friends, drinking and laughing. It feels like a home away from home for them. 

Since Sarah was leaving San Seton to go spend time with her parents and the family dinner had been called off, Sam brought Sarah to the bar earlier in the afternoon to say goodbye to Ellen. He asked Dean and Castiel if they wanted to join them and a few quick texts later, the invite had also extended to Charlie and Donna, with Benny already there working. They ordered food, played pool, and leisurely drank beer with no one having any intention of getting drunk or sloppy, just happily buzzed. After Sarah left, everyone hung around for a few more hours. 

The Roadhouse closes early on Sundays, but one of the perks of knowing the owner (and working there) is that while everyone else is kicked out, they get to stay and have the place to themselves. Castiel and Donna even jump behind the bar to help Benny with his closing checklist so he can speed through it and finally join them while officially off the clock.

It’s the perfect way to close out the weekend and Castiel soaks in every single second of it because this life is something he’s never had yet always wanted; to be in a room full of friends, surrounded by people who support him and care about him, who make him laugh and tell him that he’s wanted, and who accept him for exactly who he is. The fact that one of those people is also his boyfriend who willingly and proudly holds his hand in public, well, it’s too much to think about for too long. It’s like he’s living in a dream and he never wants to wake up.

Donna’s the first to leave, wanting to get back home before the rain that’s been sitting heavy and threatening in the sky today decides to make landfall. She lives further out towards Bagyo Bay and that road is bad enough in the dark let alone trying to navigate it in a storm, so no one blames her for wanting to avoid that combination. Charlie heads home not long after, leaving Dean, Sam, and Benny to finish their last beers together. Ellen retreated to her office a while ago, but she’ll be leaving shortly, and so should they all. 

Standing up, Dean stretches and collects their empty glasses. “I’ll take these to the back and wash ‘em up real quick. Then we can get going, Cas.” Dean’s stopped trying to remember to call him Steve in front of everyone else, his notoriously terrible nickname enough of a ruse to let him get away with it without anyone thinking twice about it any longer. It makes Castiel smile because although he doesn’t necessarily enjoy the fact that he’s kept his identity hidden from everyone, he still gets a quiet thrill knowing that the secret they share is hidden in plain sight. It’s a childish, giddy reaction, but he supposes he’s owed one or two of those. 

As Dean heads towards the kitchen, Sam excuses himself to the restroom and Castiel and Benny begin stacking chairs on top of the tables. Castiel has his back turned to the front door when it opens, letting in a gust of warm air that smells the way it does just before thunder cracks through the atmosphere. Someone must’ve left it unlocked after Charlie left.

“Sorry, brotha’. We’ve closed up for the night,” he hears Benny say, friendly but authoritative. 

The voice that follows makes Castiel’s blood turn to ice in his veins, sending a chill coursing through his body. 

“I’m not here for liquor. And I’m certainly not your brother.”

Castiel turns around to confirm what he already knows. 

_ Michael.  _

Ignoring Benny as if he’s nothing but a decorative wall ornament, Michael advances further into the bar, the door shutting behind him with an ominous slam. Michael’s glare finds Castiel as he inhales, pulling back his shoulders to stand even taller in his expensive suit, an arrogant grin spreading across his face when he makes eye contact with him.

Castiel is frozen, stuck to the floorboards with no escape. The air has left the room. 

“Hello, Castiel. It’s been awhile,” Michael says, taking a few more slow steps forward. 

It takes a few tries before the words are able to make it from his brain to his vocal chords. “Michael. Wha— what are you doing here?” He’s immediately ashamed of the way he chokes on the question. 

“It’s good to see you, too, little  _ brother _ .” The sentiment is dripping with sarcasm and disdain, simultaneously succeeding as both a threat towards Castiel and a mockery of Benny’s comment. It’s something Michael has always done well, saying so much with so little. 

With a pinched facial expression, Michael takes a moment to survey the bar, looking as though it’s offending him by merely existing, as if he’s getting dirty by simply standing within its four walls. To make a point, he brushes non-existent dirt off his shoulder and something in Castiel’s gut coils tight.

“Hey, Steve. You know this guy?” Benny asks, not overstepping but still very much alert. 

Staring at Castiel with an eyebrow raised high and challenging, Michael doesn’t even turn in Benny’s directly when he responds. “I don’t believe that’s any of your concern.”

Castiel glances at Benny and gives him a small nod. “It’s fine, Benny. I know him.” 

“It’s  _ fine _ , is it?” Michael scoffs, leaning his shoulder down and tipping his head so that he’s intentionally back in Castiel’s line of sight, demanding attention. “Is that what you call this? Abandoning your family for this… whatever this is?” he asks, flippantly waving his hand around to gesture to the bar, or the town, or maybe the entire state. “Do you actually  _ work _ here?” 

“I— I, um—” he stutters, and  _ why can’t he get any words out? _

“Answer me, Castiel.” 

Castiel is shaking and his fists are clenched so tightly that his fingernails dig into his palms. Fear seizes his voice and his muscles stiffen at the frustration of his inability to answer, to respond to his brother with the confidence he’s worked so hard to build over the past several months. He should have been ready for this, should’ve known Michael would show up some day because of course he was going to. If he’s honest with himself, he should be surprised it didn't happen sooner but he’s been _ so damn stupid _ . Shame on him for letting his guard down, for letting himself relax into this life that doesn’t belong to him. Why did he ever think even for one forsaken second that this was his to keep? 

“Hey, Cas!” Dean calls out casually, returning from the kitchen and completely unaware of how their world has just been turned on its head. “You ready to go, babe? I was thinking we could—” Dean stops short when he looks up to find Michael standing there, the tension in the room finally registering. 

“So…” Michael says, and the way that Castiel can already sense the anger radiating off of his brother is enough to make his stomach turn. “...this is how it is, is it?” 

“Please, just go,” Castiel manages to squeak out, hoping beyond hope that Michael hears his plea and chooses to take the high road, but who is he kidding. 

Michael is glaring at Dean with such disgust that if looks could kill, Dean would be a lifeless heap on the floor already. He needs to get Michael out of here, if not for his own sake, then for Dean’s. Dean doesn’t need to be exposed to whatever vile hate Michael is cooking up.

Nausea begins to churn in his gut as unbidden images of Michael in the old conference room come flashing back along with Cole’s smirk, amused and taunting. He flinches against the phantom fist making contact with his cheekbone, and in a painful wash of fear and regret, Castiel feels sick wondering if he’s about to live through the same nightmare again. Is it possible his mother is behind this? How did Michael find him? Is Dean— 

As if on instinct, Dean moves to stand close next to him, glancing between the other men in the room trying to figure out what’s going on. “Is everything okay? Who is this?” he asks calmly, but Castiel can sense Dean’s worry as he places a steadying hand on Castiel’s lower back. 

Castiel wants to sink into it, to sink into Dean, and he almost allows himself to feel comforted by it, but he can only cringe as he watches Michael track the movement. 

Michael practically vibrates with disgust. “Did our last encounter fail to knock some sense into you? Are you so sickeningly, sinfully depraved that you had to go find yourself another whore?” 

The menacing energy in the room amps up and Castiel feels Dean tense next to him. Benny makes a sound of protest but keeps his cool, taking his cues from Dean and Castiel and understanding that this isn't his fight, but keeping vigilant nonetheless. 

Michael looks Dean up and down and the exact moment that Dean puts all the pieces together is obvious when the hand that’s on Castiel’s lower back grabs a fistfull of his shirt, bunching the fabric. 

“Michael.” Dean’s voice barely contains the fury within it.

Since Castiel first told Dean all about his family, they’ve had a few more discussions about it, each one ending with Dean expressing in one way or another his anger for the way Castiel has been treated, and that anger is bubbling to the surface. 

“Oh? So he’s heard of me?” Michael says to Castiel before turning his attention on Dean. “Tell me, whore - does he pay you extra for the pillow talk, or does he just get chatty after you fuck him?”

Along with the color in his face, all of the fight drains out of Castiel, if he ever even had any to begin with. This is it. It’s really all over. Michael is here to put a stop to everything good in his life, or pull the curtains back to reveal another hoax. Either way, he can’t survive this. Once Michael gets his hooks in him, Dean will never be able love him, assuming that was ever really a possibility.

In a flash of commotion, Castiel all at once sees Dean’s shoulder pull back before he lunges at Michael, the momentum swinging his arm forward, fingers curled into a tight fist. Benny is suddenly there, throwing an arm across Dean’s shoulders to force him back, but not before Dean’s fist lands squarely against Michael’s jaw.

Michael stumbles back at the impact, very nearly knocked on his ass by it. After regaining his balance, he reaches a hand to his face in shock, checking for injuries.

“You piece of shit,” Dean shouts, still struggling against Benny holding him back. “You have no fucking right to talk about him like that! Get the fuck away from him!”

Michael adjusts his jacket and wipes a spattering of blood from his lip, trying to appear unaffected, but Castiel knows better. “Well, you found yourself a feisty one, Castiel, I’ll give you that.”

Dean makes another failed attempt to lunge at Michael when the  _ chuk-chuk _ sound of someone racking a shotgun stops everyone dead in their tracks, all eyes turning towards the source.

“You alright, Steve? Dean?” Ellen asks from behind the bar, holding a shotgun like she knows how to use it. Castiel doesn’t know if she does or doesn’t, but he’s not willing to bet against her. He glances at Dean who no longer looks coiled and ready to attack. They both nod and Benny let’s go of Dean.

“Steve?” Michael huffs. “You don’t even have the decency to tell them who you really are? Perhaps I should be wondering who’s actually taking advantage of whom,  _ Castiel _ .” 

“I don’t know who you think you are, but I suggest you get the hell out of my bar,” Ellen commands, her voice terrifyingly steady. “You’re trespassing and threatening my family. I ain’t askin’ twice.” 

Michael puts his hands up in surrender as he takes a step back with faux confidence and a pinched smirk. “Yes, ma’am.” Then he turns his gaze back to Castiel. “This isn’t over. You can’t abandon your family. You have responsibilities and a reputation to uphold. I’d advise you to start packing. I’ll be in touch.” 

With that, Michael storms out the front door, leaving Castiel shaking in his wake. 

He doesn’t know if it’s seconds or minutes that he stands there, but Castiel can’t move, can’t react. An ugly cocktail of fear, nausea, and regret keeps him stock still as he stares at the door after it slams shut. He knows about the fight-or-flight response, but what about freeze? Because that’s definitely what’s happening here. 

“Cas? Hey, Cas. You okay?” 

Castiel knows Dean is standing  _ right there _ , but his words are fuzzy and sound far away. He vaguely registers that Dean is worried but his brain is too muffled and he can’t focus enough to react. It feels like he’s underwater and there are too many thoughts trying to process at once that they all cancel each other out. He’s dizzy and it’s hard to breathe. 

Hands grip his face and it’s a call back to reality as his brain comes back online. 

“Cas. Talk to me.” Dean’s voice comes in clearer now, and he sounds… angry? Is he angry? Castiel can’t blame him if he is.

As the fog clears, his memory rewinds on hyperspeed and his brain offers up a montage of the events of the last several minutes and— 

“You punched him,” Castiel remembers, almost as if he needs confirmation to make sure he didn’t dream it up. “You— you punched Michael.” His chest rattles with the tremble in his voice and he realizes he’s shaking. 

_ Dean punched Michael _ , and he did it for Castiel. To protect him. He’s having trouble wrapping his head around the concept because no one has ever stood up for him that way before, not ever. Dean had every right to walk away or to call it quits right then and there or even to stay out of what was obviously a Novak family matter, but he didn’t. Dean never left his side and Castiel feels like he’s coming undone for about a thousand different reasons. 

“Yeah, well, he had it comin’,” Dean retorts, softer now but still firm, still managing his anger. 

There’s a noise from off to the side and the attention in the room turns to it. 

“Who had what com— whoa.” Sam has a wide-eyed look on his face as he surveys the room. “What happened?” 

“Really, Sam? You missed the whole damn thing?” Dean bites back, dropping his hands from Castiel’s face, and for the first time Castiel notices the bit of blood on his knuckles. 

“Sam, go get your brother a bag of ice for his hand.” Ellen sets the shotgun on the countertop and Sam obeys, swallowing his argument before it reaches his lips.

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice cracks. “I’m so so sorry. I didn’t know and he just showed up. I don’t know how he found me or—” 

“Hey, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out, alright?” Dean soothes, his hand resting on Castiel’s shoulder this time. 

He nods and a tense quiet settles over the room as Sam comes back out of the kitchen with a bag of ice, handing it over to Dean who hisses when he holds it to his hand a little too carelessly. 

Benny, who’s been mostly quiet this entire time, finally speaks up. “Castiel?” he questions carefully. When Castiel responds to the name, there’s a look of understanding that passes between them. “So that’s really your name?” Castiel nods and Benny turns to Dean. “Did you know? Aw hell, of course you did.” Benny answers his own questions as it dawns on him. “ _ Cas _ \- that ain’t short for Casper. I knew that nickname was too stupid to be real, even for you.” 

Benny and Dean lightly chuckle, trying to bring a bit of levity to the room, but Ellen isn’t having it. 

“Benny, I think it’s best you head on home. I’ll do the locking up tonight.” 

“You sure ‘bout that? I can wait out front instead to make sure he doesn’t come back.” 

“He won’t,” Castiel interjects, meek and barely above a whisper. “He made his point and that’s all he intended to do. He won’t be back tonight.” 

Benny glances from Castiel to Ellen and then nods. He gives Dean a firm pat on the shoulder. “You call me if you need anything. That goes for the both of ya.”

Dean mumbles his thanks and Benny walks out the door. 

“Alright boys. I want answers, and I want them now,” Ellen demands, and Castiel’s heart hits the floor. He doesn’t even want to look at Ellen but he knows he must. It’s time to face the proverbial music and accept whatever consequences may follow. He made this mess and it’s time to clean it up.

He takes in a deep breath trying to think where to start, but it turns out that Dean apparently isn’t done trying to protect him. 

“That was Cas’s brother. His name is Michael and he’s a real asshole and—” Dean snaps his mouth closed when Ellen raises her hand, indicating him to stop talking. 

It’s the first time Castiel has seen Ellen this mad and she’s frightening. She’s not raising her voice or shouting, but the look on her face says enough. He understands immediately why Dean and Sam are so obedient because in this moment, she’s a mother giving commands to her sons, and if Castiel is telling the truth, he feels far more like a child in her presence than he does a respectable adult right now, too. 

“Not you,” she says to Dean. “This isn’t your story to tell.” 

Her gaze turns hard on Castiel and he’s not sure if he goes pale or turns crimson because he feels hot and cold all at the same time. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he starts, feeling sufficiently chastised under her scrutiny. “Dean’s correct, that man was my brother, Michael. I— I don’t know how he found me, but I suppose that’s a moot point entirely, isn’t it?” He takes a deep breath. “Ellen, my real name is Castiel Novak.” 

“I see,” she says simply. The disappointment is evident in her response and Castiel’s heart sinks even deeper than he realized was possible. 

He’s let Ellen down and it feels like someone’s taken a lead weight and dropped it in the pit of his stomach. The woman who gave him a job and a chance, the woman who invited him into her home and her family… and he’s gone and lied to her and fucked everything up. What has he been thinking this whole time? Michael is right, he’s an even bigger idiot than he realized. 

“Sam, can you go wait in my office, please?” she continues.

Sam looks dejected but he follows instructions, probably knowing he’ll get the details of the conversation one way or another. Castiel stops him anyway. “With all due respect, I’d like it if Sam stays. It’s only fair that he hears this too, if that’s alright with you.” 

Ellen nods and takes a seat at one of the bar stools. “Alright. That’s your call.” She gestures to another barstool next to her and Castiel sits down. 

He spends the next several minutes explaining his story the best he can. Dean and Sam stand back a little ways, listening intently but staying dutifully quiet, save for a few angry mumbles from Dean and a small gasp from Sam when he gets to the part about Cole. Ellen probably didn’t need to know that bit but if he’s going to tell her the story, he might as well tell her the whole thing. She remains fairly stoic as she pays close attention, and although Castiel can see different emotions flashing behind her eyes, he’s not confident that he can name them.

He tells her everything he told Dean and then, after glancing at Dean to get some kind of silent approval, he continues his story right through meeting Dean and all the way up to the conversation over breakfast that lead to Sam and Dean learning about Ellen’s situation with The Roadhouse. 

“And that’s everything,” he finishes. “The gist of it, anyway, though I’m happy to answer any questions you might still have.” Ellen doesn’t respond immediately and not knowing how she’s feeling is almost worse than if she were angry, because maybe at least then Castiel would better know what to say. “I know I’ve screwed up here, I understand that. I want— I need you to know that there was never any ill-intention behind my actions, though I admit they were quite selfish, and that’s not fair, not to you, or Sam, and certainly not to Dean.”

“Ellen—” Dean chimes in again, but she holds up another finger in his direction, eyes never leaving Castiel’s, and Dean doesn’t finish the sentence.

Through all of this Dean has been kind and understanding, and Castiel realizes now more than ever that he doesn’t deserve that man. Over and over again Castiel keeps failing, keeps coming up short, and each time Dean still stands there, unwavering. Even now, Dean’s trying to defend him. It amazes Castiel as much as it breaks his heart, because Dean’s giving so selflessly to someone wholly unworthy, and how is that fair? 

“Thank you, Castiel,” Ellen says slowly, testing out his name for the first time. “That’s quite a colorful background.” Still giving nothing away, she turns to Sam. “Sam, will you please take my truck and drive Castiel home? I know it’s a short distance, but I’d rather he not walk alone. You can swing back here and pick me up after and I’ll drop you back at Bobby’s.” 

Castiel looks up, eyes wide and worried. Alone? But he’s got Dean… doesn’t he? Panic begins to make his heart beat faster as he glances around the room looking for an answer. “It’s okay, Dean and I can walk,” he counters, but he can’t keep the worry out of his voice no matter how hard he tries. 

“He’ll be there later, but I think it’s time I have a talk with my son.” 

Against the protest of every bone in his body, Castiel lets Sam lead him outside. He desperately wants to stay, to try and protect Dean the way Dean’s been protecting him. It’s not that Dean needs protecting, per se, but it feels like he’s abandoning Dean to the wolves, leaving him behind to deal with the consequences of Castiel’s idiotic decisions. And on top of all that worry, there’s also the realization that Ellen never really responded one way or another to his confession. She didn’t yell or cry or accuse, she didn’t give away anything at all, so now he’s left imagining the possibilities, and what if she’s forcing herself to stay calm because she plans on sending him away? Would Dean even let her do that? Would he have a choice? 

He can survive without his job at The Roadhouse - he can go home to Seattle (though “home” doesn’t quite feel like the right word any longer) or he can move on to Los Angeles like he planned all along - but he’s not sure how he can survive without  _ Dean _ . If he’s forced away from San Seton he doesn’t know what he’d do because despite his best efforts to keep a steady head through all of this, he’s gone and fallen head over heels for Dean and now can’t imagine a life without him. 

How did it come to this? How did a random meeting with a stranger turn into I-love-him-so-much-I-can’t-live-without-him-and-just-the-thought-of-it-makes-me-sick? This wasn’t supposed to happen, but here he is regardless. 

Sam interrupts his spiraling thoughts with a pat on the back. When he blinks himself back to reality, Castiel realizes that they’re at Ellen’s truck and Sam is already around on the other side and climbing into the driver’s seat. He forces himself inside and buckles his seatbelt, functioning on autopilot. 

“He’s gonna be fine, ya know. You both are. Ellen just needs some time to digest, but Dean will help that.” 

“Sam, I—” Castiel begins, but he’s not sure what to say. He can’t tell Sam that he loves Dean, not before he gets the chance to tell Dean himself, but he’s feeling raw and broken down. “—I can’t lose him,” he finishes quietly, trying desperately to fight back the stinging in his eyes. 

Sam sighs before he starts the truck. “You won’t, Cas. He lo—” Sam coughs suddenly, “Dean cares about you, anyone can see that.” He looks back at Castiel with big eyes that seem to grow sad when they lock onto his. “He just risked his probation for you, so yeah, he cares about you. _ A lot _ .” 

“His… ohmygod.” Castiel feels like he’s been kicked in the stomach as the realization hits him and he falls back against the seat. “Sam—”

“Your brother isn’t the type to press charges, is he?” 

Castiel shakes his head because no, Michael isn’t the type. He wouldn’t dare, not if it meant telling the world that he got bested by a nobody from some nowhere town. He wouldn’t want to look weak, Castiel knows this, and he’s confident that he knows his brother well enough to be sure, but still…

Sam starts the engine and the truck rumbles to life. “I hope you’re right.” 

Castiel’s going to be sick.


	13. Chapter 13

Though the ground is dry, thunder rumbles in the distance and the smell of rain is thick in the air outside as Dean watches Sam escort Cas through the front door of The Roadhouse.

He absolutely hates that Cas is leaving without him and his nerves prickle with the unease of not being able to follow. If there’s one thing he knows right now, it’s that Cas needs him and Dean wants nothing more than to take him home and make sure he’s okay, make sure he feels safe. 

All night long Cas had been in such a great mood. More than once Dean had caught himself staring at him, the man whose bright smile and hearty laugh filled the entire room, like a favorite song that he can listen to on repeat for forever. He just looked so  _ happy _ , a striking difference from the person he picked up in Bagyo Bay all those months ago. Cas has finally gotten himself out of his own head and he’s learned to enjoy the company of their friends, to laugh and tease and engage. He’s finally started to accept that the people around here don’t just tolerate him, they  _ like  _ him. Each day has been better than the last… until tonight. 

With Michael in the room and staring him down, Cas became an entirely different person in the flash of a second. He reverted back to that scared, closed-off, twitchy version of himself and it made Dean sick to his stomach. Cas is absolutely nothing of the disappointment his asshole brother makes him out to be and it infuriates Dean that he had to watch his boyfriend - his perfect, intelligent, gentle boyfriend - completely shut down in the face of his own family.

As much as he could use a second to get his head on straight, Ellen wastes no time laying into him as soon as that front door swings shut. “What the hell were you thinking, Dean!?” 

_ And then there were two.  _

Dean feels himself getting worked up all over again, clenching his fists in anger. The pain in his knuckles, though tolerable, helps to bring him back to the present because, oh right, he still needs to face Ellen. He turns slowly around, doing what he can to suppress the angry energy pulsing through his body. 

“That sonofabitch deserved a whole lot more than what he got and you know it,” he says, perhaps with a little more aggression than he intended. He purposefully loosens the fingers of his right hand and puts the ice back on it, mostly because he knows Ellen would just have one more thing to bitch about if he didn’t. 

“Deserve’s got nothin’ to do with it and  _ you  _ know it,” she bites back, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction. 

He’s on the defensive now and it pisses him off that he even needs to be. “Come on, Ellen. Someone had to shut the guy up! Didn’t you hear what he was saying? The way he was treating Cas?! I wasn’t gonna just stand there and let that homophobic asshole step all over him!” The look on Ellen’s face sends little warning bells ringing in the back of his mind suggesting that he better back off. “And don’t use Clint Eastwood against me,” he mumbles as an afterthought, trying to maintain his emotions. 

“You think I give two shits about him!?” She shouts, her raised voice sending a chill through Dean’s body. It’s been a long time since Ellen’s yelled at him like this, almost three years to be exact. “Your final probation hearing is right around the corner, Dean! And you’re going to risk it all because some idiot in a fancy suit was taunting a guy?!”

The anger boils over and Dean’s vibrating with it. “ _ A guy _ ?” he shouts back. “That  _ guy  _ is Cas! You know, my boyfriend? The same one who saved this goddamn bar!?” As soon as the words are out, he wishes he could take them back, but stubbornness and pride subdue his retraction. 

“See, that’s funny, because I thought  _ Steve  _ was your boyfriend.” 

The way her tone transitions from fury to disappointment in one sentence has Dean deflating in an instant, the accusation simple but effective. Shame overpowers his anger just as quickly and there’s a sudden, sharp pain behind his chest. It feels an awful lot like guilt. 

“Mama, we didn’t mean— we weren’t trying to—” he falters, unsure of where to start or how to apologize. Ellen’s expression softens and just like that, the argument loses its momentum and drains both their tempers along with it. It makes Dean feel small and sad. “Cas is a good man,” he chokes out, emotions beginning to build.

Ellen doesn’t say anything but she leads them to a booth, sliding in first and patting the seat next to her. Dean follows and sits so they’re shoulder to shoulder, reminiscent of the way they used to sit together when he was a kid and Ellen wanted to have an important talk. She’d be close enough so that she could speak softly while providing Dean some type of physical contact for comfort. It almost always had a calming effect back then, so he supposes now is no different. 

“It’s been a long time since you called me Mama,” Ellen says, that same familiar softness in her voice that he remembers. 

“I'm sorry.”

“Dean Winchester,” she scolds, but there’s no heat behind it. “Don’t you dare ever apologize for that, you hear me? Not ever.” 

Dean takes a shuddering breath. “Okay,” he says, finding it incredibly easy to fall back into their familial dynamic. “But I am sorry that we lied to you. I knew he didn’t want his family finding him and I was just trying to get him a job just to help him, ya know? But then one thing led to another and… and now here we are, I guess.” He shrugs and scratches at an invisible flaw on the table.

“Do you really think I didn’t know?”

That makes his head pop up. “What?” 

“You seem to forget how well I know you. Either that or you think I’m as dumb as a box of rocks.” She smirks and lays a gentle hand on top of his and squeezes. “Darlin’, I knew I didn’t have Steve’s -  _ Cas’s  _ \- full story, that much was obvious. But I didn’t see it necessary to pry. He showed up, did his job and did it well, and he made you happy, which was most important of all.” Dean looks back at her and she seems to understand his unasked question. “When he started helping me with the finances, I was careful. It’s why I sought out a financial advisor to be sure I wasn’t completely misreading the situation. Paid that man good money, too, just to have him basically tell me that Cas was doing a better job than he himself could’ve done.”

Dean can’t help but huff a laugh at that. “He’s stupid smart.” 

“You know that day I asked him where he studied? He told me it was Harvard without a second’s hesitation, but the look on that kid’s face when he realized he let the truth slip out…” she shakes her head with a fond smile, “...he was like a deer caught in headlights. I can’t imagine what he thought I was going to do with that information. Kick him out for being too smart?” She laughs now, the tension completely gone. “I’m not sure he has a bad bone in his body.” 

Dean shifts in the seat to face her because he needs her to understand. Of all people, he  _ needs  _ Ellen to be on his side here. “Then you see now why I had to do what I did? Cas’s family sucks. He has no one looking out for him, no one telling him that he’s actually worth a damn.” There's a lump that forms in his chest and starts to work it’s way up through his throat. He tries to swallow it down but it doesn’t work and he begins to feel his eyes sting against it. “I know punching the guy was stupid, but _ I had to _ . Michael can say whatever shit he wants about me, but Cas is the one who’s been abused and manipulated. I can’t let that happen to him anymore.”

He loses the battle against his unshed tears and feels the first one slip down his cheek. 

“Dean, honey—” Ellen says softly, but Dean’s tears keep coming. 

“Someone has to be there for him. Someone has to care because what if he runs off again? Mama, what if he leaves?” His voice cracks on the sob that escapes and like so many times before when he needed her, Ellen is there to hold him. 

“I know baby, come here.” She doesn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around him and Dean lets himself be held. He doesn’t know for how long but he doesn’t care. 

In his whole life, he’s only ever had one constant aside from Sam, and that’s been Ellen (and Bobby). Everything he’s ever been through, including the deaths of both his parents, she’s been right there, never faltering for a second. He’s taken her for granted time and again, and although age has brought him wisdom, he knows he’ll never be able to repay her. He’ll never not miss his mother but he and Sam got lucky enough to score pretty damn high with their second mom, and suddenly he has to fight back another wave of sadness when he thinks about how Cas doesn’t have a mother like Mary or Ellen. 

“Have you told him?” Ellen asks when Dean’s breathing returns to normal. 

He sits up and unceremoniously wipes his face with his shirt. “Told him what?” 

“That you love him.” 

“Wha— I don’t lo— that’s not—” Dean falters and it feels like the wind’s been knocked out of him. 

So maybe he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t thought of  _ that word _ in relation to Cas, but the thing is, he’s definitely been keeping those feelings at bay. As much as he would never admit it out loud, he also knows it’s because he’s scared. The way that Cas makes him feel whole, makes him want to take on the entire world if it would earn him so much as a smile? It’s overwhelming to say the least. 

He realizes he’s fallen hard for Cas, and the truth of the matter is that he’s already passed the point of no return when it comes to getting attached. There’s no digging his way out now, but admitting to loving someone? That’s one more step he can’t pull back from if he needs to. Avoiding that final declaration might just be the last hope he’d have of surviving if things don’t work out between them, an invisible barrier meant to soften the blow of potential heartbreak. And that’s really what this all boils down to - the  _ what-ifs _ . 

What if Cas doesn’t love him back? What if he’s just a rebound from Cole, a placeholder until Cas decides to move on? Maybe Dean’s his safety net and Cas still wants to move to Los Angeles. Worst of all, what if Cas wakes up one day and decides that he simply doesn’t belong in a place like San Seton… or with a guy like Dean? Cas is brilliant and beautiful and  _ good  _ (and rich). He can go anywhere in the world and succeed, Dean believes that with his whole heart. So is it really a matter of “if”, or more of a matter of “when” Cas will decide to move on? 

Ellen gives him a pointed look. “I thought we were past the lying.” 

“He’s gonna leave one day,” is all he can manage to mutter. 

“Maybe. But maybe not. Either way, don’t you think he deserves to know how you feel?” Her words are kind though there’s a sadness in them, too. “You should tell him while you have the chance, Dean.” 

“And if I do and things fall apart anyway?” 

“Well then you come right back here to me and I’ll help you through it. But for what it’s worth, I’ve seen the way that boy looks at you. That’s not nothing.” 

Dean looks down and plays with the hem of his shirt. Leave it to Ellen to make him go from punching a guy in the face to feeling like a child again. 

“Thank you, Mama,” he says simply. 

She takes his head in her hands and kisses him on the forehead. “Help me put up the rest of these chairs. Sam will be back here soon with the truck and we’ll drive you home.”

He’d rather walk but he chooses not to argue. If Ellen wants to make sure he gets home safe tonight, the least he can do is shut up and let her. As they scoot out of the bench and begin stacking the rest of the chairs, Dean musters up the courage to ask something he’s been meaning to ask her for a very long time, taking advantage of the temporary bravery while his defenses are down. 

“Why’d you do it?” he asks carefully. 

“Do what?” 

“Adopt Sam and I. We weren’t your obligation, but you still… ya know.”

Ellen flinches unexpectedly but she recovers and settles her shoulders, almost as if she’s been waiting for this question for a long time. She takes her time adjusting the chair she just stacked on the table before responding.

“From the very first moment I got that call about your father, I knew what I had to do, what I was  _ meant  _ to do. I never questioned it, even for a second. There was no chance in hell that I was letting you two boys be left to the foster system.”

“But I was such a problem child.” 

She raises an eyebrow. “You think Jo wouldn’ve been any easier? Hell, that little girl learned to sass before she learned to walk. In fact, I think you two would’ve been a lot alike.” A fond smile crosses her face. It’s incredibly rare that Ellen mentions Jo or talks about her first family, so Dean stays quiet, letting her have this moment. “You weren’t a problem child, Dean. You were a little boy who had his whole life ripped out from under him. You were hurt and scared and you were dealing with those emotions in the best way you knew how at the time. We both were.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Nope. There are no  _ ‘buts’ _ when it comes to you and Sam. No addendums, sidenotes, or exceptions.” She takes a deep breath and Dean waits while she collects herself. “Regardless of the shitty circumstances that brought us together, you never were and never have been an obligation. You are my  _ son _ , Dean Winchester, and I’m damn proud of the man you’ve become.” 

Tears well up in her eyes and Dean’s heart hurts. For so long he was resentful of the mother he lost that he failed to truly appreciate the mother he gained in return. And in all his adolescent ignorance, it never quite dawned on him that maybe she needed them as much as they needed her. Life is funny that way. 

“I love you, Mama,” he says, hugging her and planting a kiss on the side of her head. 

She gives him one tight, meaningful squeeze before she’s pushing him back again. “Alright. Alright. I’ve had about enough hallmark moments for one day. Let’s get you home.”

Dean laughs. He really is her son. 

***

Standing just outside his own front door, Dean shakes out his nerves. He desperately wants to make sure Cas is okay, but now that he’s gone and admitted to himself that he’s in love with the dude, well… maybe it’s got him a little nervous. 

When he opens the door, Cas is pacing the living room. His hair is a wild mess, as though he’s been running his hands through it over and over again. He’s disheveled and looks exhausted. 

“Dean,” he says, looking up when he hears the door open, wide eyed and a bit frantic, freezing in place.

Dean crosses the room while Cas stands rigid and motionless, and he remains that way until Dean’s arms wrap around him. The moment that happens, Cas melts into him like butter on warm bread. 

“You okay?” he asks, face full of Cas’s unruly hair. 

“I’m so so sorry,” Cas mumbles into his shoulder, hands clutching his back. “The things Michael said about you…” 

“Hey, don’t worry about what that asshole said, alright? As long as you’re okay.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not.” Cas says abruptly, peeling himself from Dean’s grip in a sudden change of emotion that it has Dean reeling with confusion. “You punched him, Dean. I’m not saying he didn’t deserve it and I wish I had been the one with the courage to do it, but you  _ punched him. _ ” 

“If you don’t care that I did it, then what’s the problem?” 

Cas takes a deep breath, his answer somewhere between furious and terrified. “Sam reminded me about your probation.” 

Dean rolls his eyes. He knows it’s inevitable that he’s going to hear about this from Sam, and Ellen already gave him an earful, so he doesn’t need to hear it from Cas, too. 

“We’re not talking about that, Cas. I did what I did. End of story.”

“But—”

“No.” Dean is abrupt and stern and he only feels slightly guilty when he brushes past Cas to stomp to the kitchen. He needs a goddamn drink. Grabbing two beers from the fridge, he pops off the caps and sets one down on the counter with a loud clunk while taking a swig out of the other.

“Okay,” is all Cas says before reluctantly accepting the offered beer.

They drink in silence for several minutes as Dean tries to wash down his frustration. He knows what he did and he’s well aware of the consequences, but there’s nothing he can do about it now, is there? He was an idiot and didn’t think before he took that swing, but he’s not so sure that even if he did give himself a moment to consider his options that he would’ve made a different decision. Michael was coming for Cas and he wasn’t about to just sit around and let it happen, especially knowing Cas’s history with that piece of shit. There’s really no need to panic right now since there’s nothing he can do about it anyway. Tomorrow is another day and he’ll deal with whatever happens as it comes. It’s just better not to think about it. 

Dean’s finally feeling calm again when the room lights up with a flash of lighting. Out of habit, he counts the seconds in his head.  _ One… two… three… four… _ He gets to the count of eight when the thunder rumbles. 

Cas lets out a sad little laugh when it’s over. “I always seem to bring the storm down right on your head, don’t I?” He looks up to hold Dean’s gaze and Dean swears his eyes flash blue, something beautiful and surreal. “It’s like every time you save me, the angels fight.” 

“What do you mean?” he asks. 

“It’s just something my mother told me growing up. She used to say that thunderstorms meant that God was angry and the angels were fighting.” 

He thinks for a moment as an old memory comes back to him. “That’s funny, because my mother used to tell me that thunderstorms meant that the angels were cleansing the earth and in the morning, we’d get to start fresh.” 

Cas smiles at that. “I think I like your mother’s version much better.”

Even though he’s smiling, the sadness in his face is evident and Dean isn’t sure what to do. He still feels residual anger, at Michael and at himself. It’s hard to shake it, but he’s also worried and so very tired. He doesn’t want to fight or argue, so he simply says, “You know I love a good thunderstorm right? Guess that means we’re kinda perfect for each other.” 

“I’m serious, Dean. I’m nothing but trouble for you. I’m not worth all this.” 

Dean’s heart breaks a little because after all this time, Cas still doesn’t think he’s worth it. 

“Listen to me,” he says, leaving his empty beer bottle in the sink to walk around to the other side of the counter and stand next to the man he loves. “You think you walk around and this little dark cloud follows you wherever you go. All you see is darkness and sadness because the jackasses you grew up with basically taught you that’s all there was for you. But don't you get it, Cas? You’re a goddamn rainbow. You’re funny and adorable and smart as fuck. You can’t cook worth a damn, but you’re willing to try anyway because you think it’ll make me happy. You let me pretend to teach you about cars and you laugh at all my stupid jokes. And on top of all that, you make me say sappy shit like calling you a rainbow.” 

He steps forward and takes Cas’s head between his hands. His heart is beating fast and he can’t make himself say the words that he knows are sitting right there on the edge of his tongue, so he says the next best thing. “So yeah, I’m serious, too. Bring all the storms you got, because I’ll weather every single one of them with you.” 

Cas let’s out a soft “ _ Dean _ ” as he tips their foreheads together. 

Dean closes his eyes and breathes Cas in. Slipping his hands slightly lower to cup Cas’s jaw, he draws them together for a long, languid kiss. It starts slowly and intensifies little by little, but it never quite reaches that frantic pace that usually leads them to the nearest bed. Before it builds up to that, it relaxes as they fall into each other, leaning on one another in the way that they’ve learned to do. 

“What do you say we go to bed? It’s been a long day and we both need the rest.” 

Eyes glistening, Cas nods. “Can I keep the light on and read? I don’t know if my brain is quite ready to shut off yet.” 

“Only if you play with my hair,” Dean bargains. 

Cas laughs and it’s the best sound Dean’s ever heard.

That night, he falls asleep on Cas’s chest to the sound of rain against the window and a steady heartbeat keeping rhythm against his cheek. There’s a book resting on top of his head and long fingers massaging the hair at the base of his neck. Just before sleep pulls him under, Dean thinks how much he loves every single thing about this moment, including the man beneath him who inhales just a little deeper and curls just a little closer each time the thunder rattles the walls. 

Cas spends the following couple days quieter than usual, but Dean gets it. They’re both worried and waiting for when Michael will show up next. Ellen has Benny working a few extra day shifts, which he’s glad to pick up, because Benny is the only one that would be able to recognize Michael if he walked in again, and Ellen has instructed him to notify her immediately if he does. They’re being extra vigilant and there’s nothing wrong with that. 

Dean meets Cas at home every night and if they’re both feeling a little extra clingy, well, it’s no one else’s business but their own. Cas seems to take comfort in the extra contact and Dean’s not one to complain, enjoying the way Cas tucks into him on the couch or in his bed, but by the end of the week Dean’s itching to do something to put a smile back on Cas’s face, something to get his mind off his stupid brother.

He thinks he’s got just the way to do it.

Thursday evening finds them driving to the bay, Cas tucked up under his arm as he lazily draws invisible shapes on Dean’s thigh. 

“I was thinking of taking us to a sit-in restaurant, but something tells me you’re not feeling up for it,” he says, lifting his arm when Cas tries to sit up. 

“Am I disappointing you?” Cas stares down at his feet. “Because I don’t mean to. I just don’t feel like people-ing right now.” His words are despondent and even if Dean had his heart set on a specific restaurant, he knows there’s no way Cas wouldn’t be getting his way tonight. 

“I’m people,” he teases. 

“You don’t count. You’re different.” 

“Oh am I?” 

Cas lifts his head and Dean glaces to his right to find Cas staring back at him, his eyes intense and so bright blue that Dean has to remember to look back at the road in front of him. “You know you are,” Cas finishes with such fierce sincerity that it has Dean’s heart twisting behind his chest and his knuckles turning white against the steering wheel. 

“Then what do you say we get some clam chowder and drive up to Seabreeze Point? We can eat it in the car and then we can take a walk along the bluffs if that sounds like something you might want to do.” 

“I think I’d like that very much.” 

They make a quick stop for taffy at Donna’s because apparently Cas is now a taffy fiend and can’t go into Bagyo without it, but they don’t stay long and quickly make their way to Seabreeze Point with their clam chowder. Dean grabs extra napkins and tries not to flinch too hard when Cas almost spills on the seat. The evening is warm and rain-free and sunset isn’t for at least another hour, so they end up taking a long walk hand-in-hand on one of the narrow dirt trails that weaves along the bluffs. In the parts where the trail can only accommodate one body, Dean leads the way and Cas follows, but their hands never separate. 

By the time they circle back and end up at Dean’s favorite bench, they find it’s occupied by another couple, so they venture out to one of the small outcroppings that leads them right up to the cliff’s edge instead. Positioning himself behind Cas, Dean wraps his arms around his waist and rests his chin on Cas’s shoulder. 

Cas relaxes his head back and softens under Dean’s touch. It’s one of his most favorite things, the way Cas melts into him, pliant and trusting. They stare out over the water like this, content just to exist with each other while being mesmerized by the waves. The air is warm but it’s countered by a brisk breeze sweeping in off of the ocean. Cas shivers involuntarily and Dean wraps his arms tighter. 

“Move in with me,” he says, breaking the silence. 

Cas laughs. “I hate to tell you this, Dean, but I kinda already did that.” 

“Yeah, as my roommate. But I’m not asking you to be my roommate.” 

Cas twists in his arms so he can face Dean properly, though they never quite pull apart. “I don’t understand.” He tilts his head to the side in the way that drives Dean absolutely crazy.

“I mean, move in with me as my  _ boyfriend _ . We’ll move your shit out of the second bedroom and into mine. We’ll share a closet and the same bed every night. We can even go out and get a king size bed if you want. What d’ya say?” 

“But… I already sleep in your bed most nights and why would we move everything into one closet when we have two perfectly good—”

“That’s not the point, Cas.” He tries not to smack his hand against his forehead in a literal facepalm. “I’m trying to tell you that I want to  _ live  _ with you,  _ as a couple. _ I wanna make it official. It’s a gesture.”

“Oh.” There’s a pause while Cas thinks about it. “So like, I wouldn’t just be renting a room, but it would be my home, too?” 

Finally he gets it. “Yes, exactly.” 

The smile that lights up Cas’s face is more perfect than the sunset they’ve been watching, and when Cas practically jumps into his arms in excitement, they miss it altogether, lost in each other while the world keeps spinning around them. 

Dean would miss a thousand sunsets for this. 

Cas is so excited that when they get home, Dean immediately begins planning out how they’re going to share  _ their  _ closet space together, but before he can get very far, Cas demands that he show Dean his appreciation… twice. 

Friday morning is the most relaxed Cas has been all week and the good spirits roll right into the weekend when they actually do manage to rearrange the bedroom, reorganizing both the closet and the dresser and adding a second night stand. Much to Cas’s delight, Dean even cleans off the workbench in his shed and draws out plans for the desk that’s going to fit into Cas’s— no, the  _ guest  _ bedroom. 

Throughout the following week, Dean works on the desk little by little after he’s done at the shop each evening. Cas usually finds him there and brings him a beer when he gets home. Thoughts of Michael seem to drift into the background and on Thursday, when Donna is in town and invites them to lunch, everything feels back to normal. Charlie joins them as well and when their allotted lunch hour is over in what feels like five minutes, Dean and Cas both have to scramble back to work to avoid the wrath of Bobby and Ellen. 

Cas has a goofy grin on his face when he kisses Dean so fast that he misses his lips entirely. He all but runs away towards The Roadhouse laughing and shouting over his shoulder that he’ll see Dean after work, which is why it’s particularly confusing when Cas comes home extra late that night, his mood having completely altered to something brooding and closed off. He declines the dinner Dean made for them, spends longer than usual in the shower, and then heads straight for bed. Any time Dean tries to talk to him, he says he’s fine and just wants to be left alone, so Dean gives him his space. 

After eating dinner on the couch and watching a movie, he tip-toes into their bedroom. Cas is fast asleep and curled in a tight ball at the very edge of his side of the bed. Dean slips carefully under the covers, falling asleep for the first time with Cas in his bed but without a single part of them touching. It feels cold. 

When Dean wakes the next morning, the bed is already empty but the faint smell of coffee lingers in the air. Dean gets up hoping to find Cas sitting at the table or on the couch, but the house is empty too. There’s a post-in note on the coffee maker that reads:  _ Left early. Coffee is fresh. _

They’ve never been in a real fight before and this doesn’t exactly feel like one, at least not from his experience. He can’t think of anything he did wrong and it doesn’t even really seem like Cas is particularly mad at him, so what the hell is going on? He pulls out his phone and shoots Cas a quick text to thank him for the coffee and to ask if he’s okay. It goes unanswered until lunchtime but by then, Dean’s already texted Donna to ask for her help. 

**DONNA** :  _ You’re in the trenches now, Winchester. Doesn’t matter if you did something wrong or not, it’s up to you to fix it.  _

**DEAN** :  _ That doesn’t make sense. We’re not even fighting _

**DEAN** :  _ … _

**DEAN** :  _ I don’t think?  _

**DONNA** : …  _ that you know of  _

**DEAN** :  _ Goddammit. What do I do?  _

**DONNA** :  _ My young padawan. You must wine and dine him.  _

**DEAN** : _jfc_ _do you even know what a padawan is?_

**DONNA** :  _ Charlie made me watch all 87 movies. I’m basically a Jedi master thankyouverymuch _

**DEAN** :  _ ok Obi Wan, I’ll take your advice and let you know how it goes. _

**DEAN** :  _ You better be right about this.  _

**DONNA** :  _ Live long and prosper _

**DEAN** :  _ That’s not even… nevermind. Thanks D.  _

Cas’s reply is more of the same. He says he’s fine and that he’s just busy, so Dean asks him if he’d be okay with Dean ordering from their favorite Thai place tonight. There’s a thumbs up emoji for a response and he supposes that’s the best he’s going to get. 

As soon as he can, Dean rushes home from work to take a shower and clean up around the place. He puts a tablecloth over the coffee table and sets up pillows on either side of it (Cas likes it when they eat on pillows on the floor. Whatever. His boyfriend is weird). He pulls candles from his emergency power outage kit and orders the food so it arrives just before Cas gets home. It’s not exactly a perfect setup, but for it being last minute, he’s pretty proud of himself. He even has chocolate chip cookies in the oven. 

When Cas opens the door, he looks miserable. His normally bright eyes are dark and tired and he’s pale. Hell, even his hair seems less… peppy. It’s enough to wipe the hopeful smile right off Dean’s face. 

“What’s all this?” Cas asks, looking around the room in confusion.

“I—” Dean starts, suddenly nervous that he somehow misread this whole thing or that he screwed up in some other way that he still doesn’t understand. “I could tell something was bothering you, so I wanted to do something nice for you. The food got here just before you did, so it’s still hot.” 

Cas seems touchy and refuses to make eye contact. “Please begin without me. I need to take a shower.” When he heads towards the bathroom and Dean reaches out for him, he moves to avoid the touch and mumbles an “I’m fine” before locking himself in the bathroom. 

Dean is left feeling stunned and helpless. He doesn’t know what’s going on or how to make it right. None of this makes any sense. 

Cas appears only slightly more rested when he emerges from the bathroom, but Dean has the sneaking suspicion that the watery eyes don’t have anything to do with the shower. They eat dinner in awkward silence. Cas makes feeble attempts at small talk but by the time he stands and helps clean up, Dean’s had about enough. There’s been a strange energy in the room and it’s unsettling. 

“Why are you doing all of this—” 

“Alright, what the hell is going on—” 

They speak at the same time, accidentally talking over each other, both surprised that the other spoke. They wait each other out for a beat, but Dean is determined to let Cas speak first. At this point, he thinks he’s owed that much. 

“I’m sorry, Dean. This was a really nice dinner and I’ve ruined it. It’s just…” Cas trails off. 

“It’s just what? You gotta talk to me, Cas. I’m tryin’ here.” 

“Why? Why have you gone through all this trouble? I don’t understand it,” he says, getting worked up. 

“Donna said that you were probably mad at me for something and that the best thing to do would be to try and make it right, even if I don’t know what I did wrong.”

“What you did wrong? Dean, you didn’t— that’s not what’s going on.” Cas makes a frustrated grunt. “God, why do you care so much?” The outburst seems out of place and Dean takes a half step back in surprise. Cas isn’t fazed. “What was the point of all this?! Of you taking me in and giving me a place to stay? A job? Okay fine, so you didn’t want me to freeze to death, I get that, but what about everything after, huh? Why did you keep giving me more? And more and more and more?!” 

Cas is breathing heavily now and his eyes are glistening again. A thick knot twists behind Dean’s chest, though he’s not sure if it’s from hurt at the harsh words or from the way Cas is looking at him, broken and falling apart. Something is wrong here and he doesn't know how to fix it other than to answer the question honestly.

“Because I love you,” he says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world, like the truth should have been obvious all along. 

Cas’s eyes flare wide and he stops moving. It takes him a moment to respond, but it’s not what Dean’s expecting at all when he does. 

“Don’t say that to me. Please, Dean.  _ Don’t _ .” The words are cracked and painful.

“Wait, what? Why? Cas, you have to know this by now, don’t you?” Dean’s heart is dropping to the floor and the only thing keeping it from shattering is that something still doesn’t feel right. It still doesn’t make sense. This isn’t Cas. 

“It’s not that— it’s— I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve any of this.” 

“Stop that. Just stop it. What’s really going on? Tell me.” Dean’s practically begging now.

Tears spill down Cas’s cheeks. “I don’t wanna lose you,” he whispers. The words are spoken so low that Dean almost misses them entirely. 

“Hey, come here. Why would you say that?” He steps forward and wraps his arms around Cas’s shoulders again. Cas falls into them willingly. “If you’re not ready for this, I can back off. We can pretend that I never said it. I’ll take it back if—” 

Cas pulls back abruptly with a harsh “ _ No _ .” His ocean blue eyes stare into Dean’s like he’s trying to say everything at once while saying nothing at all. There’s fear in them, and pain, too, but there’s also something else, something determined and sincere. Without warning, Cas surges forward and crashes their lips together. He grabs the back of Dean’s neck like it’s a liferaft and he’s holding on for his only hope of survival. He kisses him long and hard, the kind of kiss that’s given when words are nothing more than a bunch of syllables and sounds that don’t mean a damn. 

Panting, Cas breaks the kiss. “I love you, too.”

It’s Dean’s turn to dive back into the kiss because it’s all he’s ever wanted to hear. It’s all he needs and he swallows down every whimper, every needy little noise that escapes Cas’s throat. 

“I love you, Cas” he manages to say between breaths. 

“Dean.  _ Please _ .”

He can’t tell who’s leading whom to the bedroom but it doesn’t even matter because when they fall against the mattress, they’re just a bunch of limbs intertwined, grasping and pulling. 

Dean feels the weight of Cas’s body on top of his own and he tilts his head back to give Cas access as he sucks and nips at his neck, a litany of adoration and praise falling from his lips as he does so. 

He still doesn’t have a clue what’s going on in Cas’s head, but he’d give Cas the whole fucking moon right now if that’s what he wanted. Any warning bell of worry in Dean’s mind is drowned out by the sounds of their labored breaths and rustling fabric as each piece of clothing gets peeled away and discarded somewhere in the room. Dean doesn’t argue or protest or even try to assure Cas that everything’s gonna be alright. It’s not because he doesn’t want to or that he doesn’t know in the very deepest part of his soul that he’d do anything not to lose Cas, but because he’s absolutely gone on the way Cas needs him right now. It’s selfish and the decent part of him is aware of at least that much, but the way Cas is clawing at him like he can’t get enough, the desperate noises he’s making because he wants  _ more _ (even though Dean is giving over every last piece of himself)... he’s drunk on it. He’s delirious with the way that Cas makes him feel like no one ever has before, wrecked with the knowledge that no one has ever loved him like this. It’s incredible.

So he lets Cas have him… in any way that he needs. 

When Cas grabs the lube from the nightstand and slicks up his fingers, Dean closes his eyes to wait for the slide of hand between his thighs and the press of a finger to his ass, but when it doesn’t happen, he opens his eyes to find the hold up. His jaw drops at the sight in front of him. Cas is working himself open while starting intently down at Dean and it’s so fucking hot... and so very  _ new _ . 

Not long after they got together, Cas had expressed his reservations about sex. Sure, blowjobs and handjobs were easy in the heat of the moment and it’s not like either of them were virgins, but Cas was still hesitant about taking it further. Even after they officially crossed that line together, Cas remained understandably skittish about letting Dean inside of him in the most intimate way. It didn’t require a detailed explanation and Dean has simply respected Cas’s boundaries, careful never to ask for too much and always doing his best to make sure Cas feels in control. (Ironically, the only place Cas has no problem  _ taking _ control is between the sheets… but that’s totally beside the point.) It’s not like it’s mattered much to Dean anyway because he fucking loves bottoming, and it’s been all the more satisfying knowing he can give Cas exactly what he needs, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t thrilled with this turn of events. 

“Cas. Let me,” he says sitting up, voice raw with want. 

He flips them so Cas is laying on his back with Dean kneeling over him. He searches for the lube that’s already gotten lost in the sheets and he can feel Cas’s eyes tracking his every move. Once successful, he bends Cas’s knees towards his chest and begins to work him open. He’s sure to be slow and careful, watching Cas’s face for any signs of distress or pain, but all he sees staring back at him is a flushed face full of willful desire.

By the time he’s got Cas writhing beneath him, he’s whispering needy pleas, begging Dean for more. 

“You sure about this?” he asks, needing to be certain that this is what Cas wants. 

“Yes,” Cas growls. “I want you inside of me.  _ Please _ , Dean. I just… I need you.” 

Cas is bordering on incoherent and it makes Dean giddy with the thought that he’s the one who gets to take Cas apart like this, and that Cas trusts him enough to put him back together. 

“I got you, Cas. I’ll take care of you.” It’s a promise that’s so much bigger than this moment, but if Dean’s gonna actually get to fifth base tonight, he needs to not think of the gravity of it. Instead, he tries to think of all the things that make him more comfortable when he’s in the reverse position, so he grabs a pillow and places it under Cas’s hips before leaning down to kiss him. Cas lets out a satisfied moan and bucks his hips looking for friction, but Dean just rubs a soothing hand up his deliciously muscular thigh while waiting for him to relax into the mattress. 

“Dean… I’m ready. I promise.” 

That’s all he needs to hear. He folds Cas’s legs back against his chest again and is amazed, not for the first time, at what a bendy fucker he is. He lines himself up and slides his cock between Cas’s cheeks, pausing when there’s a quick gasp, but Cas immediately bites his lower lip, his eyes wide open and watching. 

Dean can’t help but to lean down and kiss him again. “I’m gonna make you feel so good,” he whispers between the sensual slide of their tongues. “But if you need me to stop or slow down or anything at all, you say the word, okay?” 

Cas nods eagerly and lifts his head off the pillow, grabbing Dean by the back of the neck and pulling him down to press their lips together one more time. “I love you, Dean Winchester. And I trust you.” 

And  _ holy fuck _ , Dean can get used to hearing that.

Not wanting to wait a second longer, he positions himself back up on his knees and presses slowly inside of Cas. He has to work to steady himself, keeping his own enthusiasm in check to make sure he doesn’t do anything to cause Cas displeasure, but once he’s buried to the hilt, they both let out shaky breaths. 

He begins a slow rhythm as Cas’s fists twist in the bedsheets and his head falls back in delighted bliss. Dean is certain he’s never seen anything so gorgeous in his whole damn life. 

How is this even real? How did he manage to fall in love with the single most perfect human on the planet? Better yet, how did he manage to get Cas to fall in love right back? 

His chest feels like it’s about to burst as he gets lost in every sensation, in every movement of their bodies, and in every way that Cas is warm and tight and  _ his _ . And every desperate sound that slips from those pink, kiss-bitten lips sends a new euphoric shiver down his spine and straight through to his toes.

Cas moves a hand from the sheets to his dick but before he can begin to stroke himself, Dean bats his hand away and practically growls. “I told you I’d take care of you.” He wraps his fist around Cas’s cock and goes weak at the downright filthy moan that follows the moment he begins to stroke it.

“Fuck. Dean. Ohmygod. This is…. you feel so… fuuuuuck.” Cas is flushed and panting and the expletives react like little fireworks of pleasure in the base of Dean’s gut. 

He’s not going to last much longer and as if he and Cas are on the same wavelength, Cas interlocks his ankles behind Dean’s back and reaches up to yank him down. He nearly loses his balance with the force of it but he manages to bracket his arms by Cas’s shoulders as Cas claws at his back, squeezing his thighs and holding onto Dean like a desperate koala about to fall out of a tree.

Dean hides his face in the crook of Cas’s neck while they frantically move against each other, chasing their ecstasy as if they tried just a little bit harder they could somehow get closer and feel  _ more _ . Cas can’t keep his hips or his hands still as he kisses and nips at Dean’s shoulder. Dean is well aware that he’s going to have marks on his body when this is done and it makes him lightheaded. 

“Please,” Cas begs. “Dean. So close. I’m so close.” 

He replaces the hand he’d removed when he was pulled down and finds Cas’s cock again, warm and leaking between them. Cas yelps out a sinful whine as Dean strokes him as best he can, picking up the pace of his thrusts into a relentless rhythm. 

Without warning, Cas comes hard with Dean’s name on his lips, and it’s almost too much.

“I’m gonna—  _ fuck— _ Cas, I’m—“ he stutters. 

“Come in me, Dean. I wanna feel you,” Cas replies, breathless and wrecked. 

The permission is all he needs and within seconds Dean shakes with his orgasm, seeing stars burst behind his eyelids. His body instantly goes weak with the exertion and he collapses forward to be immediately wrapped in Cas’s arms. 

“I love you. I love you. I love you.” Cas mutters, like it’s the only thing he knows to be true in this moment. 

Dean can relate. 

Bodies still aligned and aside from heaving chests, they lay still as they both come down, exchanging whispered  _ I love you’s.  _ It’s not until their sweat begins to cool on their skin that Dean peels himself off of Cas and rolls onto his back. 

He spends another minute with his eyes closed before looking to his side to find Cas smiling at him. 

“What?”

Cas only smiles wider. “Nothing. It’s just that had I known how good you were at that, I might’ve let you try it sooner.” He laughs when Dean hits him in the face with a pillow. 

He pushes Cas back against the mattress when he tries to get up. “I got this. Stay naked and relax because I’m not done taking care of you. I’ll be right back.” 

He retrieves a warm washcloth from the bathroom and two glasses of water from the kitchen. When he gets back, Cas is checking his phone but quickly puts it down. Dean’s disappointed to see the goofy, delirious smile on Cas’s face has disappeared but he chooses to ignore it, his love-drunk brain refusing to acknowledge anything but the fucking fantastic time they just had together. Using the cleanup as an excuse, he runs his hands soothingly all over Cas’s body, up and down his toned muscles and across his soft, golden skin, utterly satisfied with the quiet hums of content Cas lets out. 

No longer sticky and with muscles pleasantly loose and limp, they crawl under the covers. Cas wastes no time curling around Dean, cuddling close.

“I love you,” he whispers again with a kiss to the top of Cas’s head. “More than there are drops in the ocean.” 

As his eyes slip closed he feels Cas squeeze him tighter. 

***

Soft morning light blankets the room in a warm glow and Dean stretches under the sheets, letting out a quiet yawn. It’s Saturday and he has a shift at the shop today but a blurry glance at his phone tells him he’s still got at least an hour before he needs to be up. So why is he not cuddling? 

He rolls over to see that Cas is still in bed. He’s awake and staring at the ceiling with his hands folded over his belly. 

“Mornin’s sunshine,” Dean mumbles, barely coherent while scooting over on the bed to steal some of Cas’s warmth and snake an arm over his waist.

There’s a deep, shuttering sigh and then… “I have to go,” Cas says, his voice deep and raspy. 

“Mmm nuh-uh. Saturday. No work for you.” Dean wiggles closer and attempts to burrow his face under Cas’s arm trying to get him to lift it so he can get even closer, much like a puppy does when he wants affection. 

Cas doesn’t lift his arm. 

Still heavy with sleep, Dean cracks one eye open. Cas shifts his head so he can look over at Dean, and he’d make a cheeky comment about how thoroughly fucked his hair looks if it weren’t for the watery red eyes looking back at him. He immediately props himself up onto his elbow. 

“Cas?” 

“Not to work.” The cold, flat tone of Cas’s voice makes Dean feel like his lungs have been punctured, letting all the air escape. “I’m going back to Seattle.” 

Dean’s heart seizes before it hits the floor.


	14. Chapter 14

**_3:31am_ **

Castiel is tired and sore in all the best ways, his body humming with satisfaction from last night with Dean. The sex was mindblowing and better than he imagined it could be, but what has him soaring higher than anything else is the life-altering revelation that  _ Dean loves him _ , and that makes Castiel feel invincible. When Dean said those three words, confidence and courage surged through him with the warmth of a bar full of tequila shots. Right then, Castiel knew what he wanted to do. 

But in the silence of the night prowls the darkness of doubt, and Castiel can feel its foreboding presence creeping in.

Having untangled himself from Dean’s body just moments before and in a valiant attempt to shut down his mind against everything that’s haunting his thoughts, he looks over at Dean. Dean’s sleeping soundly with the remnants of a smile resting peacefully on his face, and just for tonight Castiel promises to try and let himself enjoy what he has in this moment, sharing a bed with this beautiful man who, against all odds, loves him back. 

Castiel rolls to his side and scoots closer so they’re face-to-face. He falls back asleep using the moonlight to try and count the freckles that pepper Dean’s nose. It’s a sufficient distraction, though all too brief.

**_4:14am_ **

In his sleep, Dean’s turned his body the other way so now Castiel is looking at his bare back. It’s tan and soft and Castiel stares at it wanting to memorize every single detail, every perfect imperfection adorning the expanse of skin curving along the mattress. Unable to resist, he uses his finger to lightly trace secret messages onto Dean’s back. 

The messages are lost to the quiet shadows of the subconscious, but Castiel convinces himself that they’ll be enough. When the morning light inevitably dissolves the dark and illuminates reality, he hopes it will be enough.

**_5:26am_ **

It’s not enough. 

The oppressive predawn darkness closes in around him, making it feel like a physical weight pressing down on his chest, holding him against the mattress. 

If he had one wish right now, it would be to stay in this bubble forever, just him and Dean. That’s all he wants. But nothing is ever that easy for him, despite how it appears on the outside. It’s the story of his life, isn’t it? A lesson he’s been learning over and over again since as far back as he can remember. 

He’s stuck in the middle of the cruelest game of tug-of-war between his heart and his head and it’s tearing him apart. No matter the outcome, there are no winners here. 

**_6:17am_ **

With an aching heart and an upturned stomach, Castiel accepts his loss against both time and sleep. Each minute that ticks by is a stabbing reminder that the sun is rising higher and bringing him closer to the moment that he’ll have to say goodbye, because he knows now what he truly must do. 

The tug-of-war is over and he’s left shattered.

Laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling, Castiel tries not to cry, tries not to let the bile in his stomach climb up his throat and force him out of his bed. He wants to stay here and soak up every last ounce of warmth that he’s allowed, because when Dean wakes up, nothing will ever be the same. 

***

No matter how much he tried to deny it, he knew this was coming.

He knew from the moment Michael stepped foot into The Roadhouse that this is how it was going to end - his mother and Michael dragging him back to Seattle one way or another. He’s wanted so very desperately to believe that he could keep this life he’s made for himself, the one he’s built with Dean at his side, but deep down he knew it was never going to happen. 

When he left work on Thursday evening and saw the black town car idling at the curb, there was no doubt in his mind who was inside. An expensive car like that doesn’t drive around in a place like this. 

He walked up to the car as a window rolled down. 

“Castiel.” It was a greeting as much as it was a reprimand. 

“Hello, Mother.” 

Naomi Novak is not one to be trifled with, so Castiel got in the car knowing that there was no way around it. The driver took them to a hotel one town over. He assumed it was the fanciest place she could find within a hundred miles, yet still she looked disgusted by it. She walked through the lobby as if the employees and guests alike should be thanking her for gracing the place with her presence. Castiel hid his face and hoped like hell that no one would recognize him, not that there was much of a chance of that. 

They sat at the quaint restaurant inside and Naomi ordered salads for each of them, stating that even the biggest imbecil should be able to serve a decent plate of greens.

As angry as he knew she was, she began to talk to him as if no time had passed at all, as if the last time they saw one another Castiel hadn’t just been punched by Micheal, as if he hadn’t just discovered that his mother not only knew about his relationship with Cole, she outright sponsored it. Likely sensing his patience wearing thin, she spoke. 

“I’ll cut right to the chase, Castiel. It’s time for you to come home. This is not a request, it’s an order.” 

“Mother, I—” 

“I’ll have you know that I do not intend to waste my time with pointless arguments. I gave you your space, let you play your silly games, but I no longer have the tolerance for it.” She slid a small white envelope across the table and Castiel knew what it was before needing to open it. “Your flight leaves on Saturday. You’ll have time to pack your things and say your goodbyes, though I don’t expect either will take you long.”

“How did you find me?” He blurted out the question before his anger could choke him into silence.

“What a ridiculous question, Castiel. You didn’t think we weren’t keeping tabs on you, did you? I had your social security number flagged for activity, so when you opened a bank account under your name, it was only a matter of time before I was notified.” 

The response was infuriating, but blaringly obvious in retrospect.

“Why?” he asked. He needed answers 

“Excuse me?” 

“Why do you want me to go back? No one wants me there, Micheal least of all. I thought he’d be happy to be rid of me,” Castiel said plainly, knowing his mother doesn’t appreciate anyone beating around the bush. 

“You have responsibilities, Castiel. A career that you abruptly abandoned and a family that you left to pick up your mess. I will not allow you to so callously forsake everything that I have provided for you just so you can run off and play barkeep in some backwoods shanty.” She took a moment to take a sip of water and presumably collect herself. “I’m disappointed in your lack of principle, but now that you’ve had time to get it out of your system, I expect your complete focus upon your return.” 

Trying to suppress his shuddering rage and disbelief, Castiel bit back. “Is this about my tuition? Because I’ll pay you back, with interest. I can—”

His mother silenced him with a raised hand. “You will still pay me back, but you will do so while in Seattle and occupying your position with my company.” 

Castiel felt sick. He felt sick at the thought of going back to Seattle, at the thought of saying goodbye… at the thought of losing Dean. It was the latter that gave him the courage to argue. “Well I have a job here, now. And friends. I’m going to stay.” 

The salads were served and his mother unfolded her napkin and placed it gingerly in her lap, never even bothering to acknowledge their server. “My apologies. Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear. You don’t have a choice. Now, not another word until I finish my meal. I will not trifle with childish contention while I eat.” 

While his mother ate her salad, Castiel never touched his own, his appetite long gone. Instead, anger churned in his gut and it took everything he had in him to sit still. The rage he felt bubbled under the surface of his skin and he nearly made his tongue bleed from biting onto it for so long. 

The moment she swallowed the last bite, Castiel was ready to burst, though he managed to keep his voice at a reasonable decibel. 

“You can’t just come here and demand that I go back with you. I have people depending on me. I have a bo—” He interrupted himself with a fake cough before rephrasing. “I have a life here. Surely you can find another analyst.” 

His mother patted the corner of her lips with her napkin before placing it on the table. If anyone was watching, she’d appear perfectly and acceptably content, pleased even, but Naomi is a woman who knows how to control her temper, and the barely-there purse of her lips told Castiel that she was furious with his response.

“I didn’t expect it would have to come to this, but so be it.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a large manilla envelope and handed it across the table. 

He reluctantly took hold of it. “What’s this?”

“Open it.” 

The tone in her voice made Castiel weary but it still didn’t prepare him for the chill that took hold of his bones when he opened the envelope and removed its contents only half way. With an embarrassing gasp, he shoved them back inside, not needing to look more closely.

“What the f—” 

“Watch your mouth, Castiel,” she snapped, still managing to keep a sophisticated presence about her. “I did my research. I know the people you've chosen to associate yourself with and I will not have my son caught up in all this. A five year probation? For what should’ve been a felony charge? They should’ve locked him up if you ask me.”

A tidal wave of fury washed over him and he struggled to keep him composure. “Don’t talk about Dean that way,” he said through gritted teeth.

His mother all but ignored him. “I’ve worked too hard to deal with this nonsense and I will not have you tarnish my reputation. So. You will collect your things and be on that plane on Saturday. If you manage to miss that flight, one call to the District Attorney’s office and I’ll prove to you just how serious I am. It would be quite the shame if your friend suddenly finds himself behind bars because he couldn’t keep his fist to himself… and you couldn’t follow a simple instruction.” 

In that moment, Castiel didn’t know whether he wanted to scream or cry or take a swing at his own mother. In his trembling hands was a copy of Dean’s mugshot along with additional pages detailing his criminal record and the contact information of those involved in his case. Even more infuriating was that Castiel was under the impression that Dean had a three year probation and was nearly done serving it, but the five-year sentence was clear as day on the paperwork, giving his mother the fuel she needed to hold this over his head for the next two years… more than enough time for Dean to get over his feelings and move on from Castiel.

“Oh...” she added, standing up and leaving cash on the table, “... and in case I haven’t been crystal clear - you’re to cut ties with your friend  _ completely _ . I don’t need you getting any ridiculous ideas about associating with him in the future. He’s filth, Castiel. And his kind will not be tolerated.”

Never in his entire existence had Castiel ever felt such blinding outrage coupled with debilitating hopelessness. It’s a wonder he was able to remain standing.

Dean was his mother’s target and Castiel was holding her ammunition.

***

The memory of that conversation still cuts fresh, like a sharp knife carving out his heart bit by bit. Tears build behind his eyes as he remembers his car ride back to The Roadhouse, alone and stunned. He knows how his mother operates when it comes to getting what she wants, so he doesn’t know why he ever expected her to play by a different set of rules just because it’s Castiel on the receiving end of her spite. 

She did it. Naomi Novak won. 

That envelope isn’t just a threat, it’s proof of an unspoken promise: Naomi will use Dean in any way she sees fit, consequences be damned, to get Castiel to fall in line. So he needs to go back to Seattle, not because he wants to, but because it’s the only way to protect Dean. 

When Dean told him last night that he loved him, Castiel had changed his mind for a fleeting moment. He was going to tell Dean everything, to stand up to his mother and call her bluff, or at least try to appeal to any motherly instinct that might remain inside of her. He felt courageous and strong and he was ready to fight... but as morning crept closer, his courage faded until it became nothing more than the wistful remnants of a false hope. 

He realizes now that trying to fight for Dean would be the most selfish thing he could possibly do to him. He can’t knowingly place Dean in the path of a wrathful Naomi with no real plan other than to cross his fingers and hope that they come out unscathed. The woman is a hurricane and she’ll devastate anything in her way if she wants to, and it’s not like Castiel has any real means to stop her. 

So it comes down to this: Castiel will follow his mother’s instructions. He will be on that plane to Seattle on Saturday and he’ll do it to protect Dean. His own heart may be ripped to shreds in the process, but it would be a much worse fate to ruin Dean’s life just so he can have a chance at his own happy ending. He’d never be able to live with himself if he hurt Dean just because he was being selfish, so he’s going to do what needs to be done. 

Next to him, Dean stirs and Castiel’s heart begins to break before anyone even has the chance to speak. 

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Dean mutters half into the pillow.

He doesn’t say anything as Dean moves closer, snaking an arm over his waist. It’s now or never, and it has to be now. 

“I have to go,” he announces without preamble. 

The true meaning of the words are lost on Dean. “Mmm nuh-uh. Saturday. No work for you.”

Castiel holds back a sigh while Dean tries to cuddle closer, but he can’t let him. He can’t seek comfort from Dean’s touch. He doesn’t deserve it and if he took it anyway, he’d never be able to let go.

Dean cracks an eye open and Castiel can’t help but to look over at him, to gaze at this wonderful man who makes him feel whole, makes him feel alive. Dean’s hair is golden brown in the morning light and Castiel swears there are at least a dozen more freckles painted across his nose than there were when he counted last night. 

“Cas?” Dean props himself up on his elbow, more alert than a moment ago. 

“Not to work,” he manages to squeak out, pretending he doesn’t hear the worry in Dean’s voice. “I’m going back to Seattle.” 

Dean laughs. It’s a nervous little chuckle at first, but then it stops. “You can’t be serious.” 

He doesn’t answer right away and with Dean’s eyes boring into him, Castiel doesn’t know how he’s going to make it through this conversation. He sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed so he’s sitting on the edge, grasping onto the mattress for support. Dean scrambles across the bed to sit next to him. 

“I am serious, Dean. It’s something I have to do.” 

The biggest part of him wants to tell Dean  _ why _ , to explain in exact detail the cruel ways his mother is behind this, but he can’t. He knows Dean well enough by now to know that he wouldn’t care about Naomi’s threat. He’d tell Castiel that she’s full of shit and not to listen to her. And even though he’s well aware of his own mother’s capabilities, he’s also well aware of Dean’s - Dean holds the power to convince Castiel of almost anything. One well placed argument from that honey whisky voice, one look from those golden green eyes, and one soft kiss from those pouty lips, and Castiel is putty in Dean’s hands. 

He can’t give Dean the chance. 

“Okay, well, how long are you going for?” Dean sounds so hopeful and Castiel’s heart feels like it’s being stabbed with a thousand blades. 

“Dean…” he says on an exhale. 

“How long?” Dean repeats more harshly and with added urgency.

All Castiel can manage to do is hunch his shoulders and stare intently at his knees. He’s grasping the mattress so tightly that his fingertips ache and the long, wordless pause that sits between them stretches on for days. 

Dean’s the first to break the silence when understanding settles. “ _ Goddammit _ , Cas.” He stands and runs an angry hand through his hair. “Why? What happened?” 

“I saw my mother on Thursday.” He can at least be truthful about that much.

“You  _ what _ ?” 

“It’s why I was home late. She was waiting outside of The Roadhouse when I left and we had dinner.”

“And you’re just now telling me this?! Jesus, Cas.” Dean paces the room but Castiel can’t move from off the edge of the bed. “So what does she want?”

“She reminded me of the responsibilities I left behind and how careless and selfish I was abandoning them like that.” 

“First of all, those sound like Michael’s words, not yours. Second of all, she knows why you left, right? How can she expect you to just… go back?” 

Castiel has had so much experience in succumbing to his mother’s will, to doing her bidding without question, that it’s a bit frightening how easily he falls right back into his role as the obedient son, convincing himself of the falsehoods spilling out of his own mouth. “She’s not wrong, Dean. I left without warning or a plan. This whole time I’ve been with you someone else has been burdened with picking up my slack. It was incredibly irresponsible.” 

“Your brother punched you for being gay and your mom was paying off your boyfriend in secret. I think you get a free pass there, pal.” The sarcasm drips from Dean’s voice like molasses and Castiel shudders. 

“My job affects more than just my mother and Michael. There’s a bigger picture I’m looking at.”

“So you’re just going to leave? Just like that, after everything? You’re not even going to put up a fight?” 

“There are people depending on me, Dean. I need to go home.”

“Yeah?” Dean snaps, making Castiel jump. “I thought I— I thought this was your home now? There are people here who depend on you, too, you know.” 

“If you’re talking about Ellen, I have no intention of leaving her out to dry. I’ll take care of—” 

“I’m talking about me!” Dean’s voice cracks. 

When Castiel meets his gaze, Dean’s breathing is labored and his eyes are filled with a watery mix of hurt and confusion. Castiel knew this would be a near impossible conversation, but nothing could have prepared him for it because causing Dean even the slightest bit of pain is cracking his chest wide open. But Castiel has to keep himself in control, for Dean’s sake, so he doesn’t reach out and grab Dean’s hand the way he so desperately wants to. 

He doesn’t tell Dean that leaving is going to destroy him in a way he didn’t even realize was possible until now.

“Or was I just a means to an end?” Dean continues, heartbreakingly softer now, each word another slice to Castiel’s already shredded heart. “A convenient distraction while you sorted your shit out before going back? Tell me, was the breakup sex part of your plan, too? Or was that just a bonus?”

“What? No! Dean—” 

“Fucking save it,” he says, rasing a hand in the air and pointing it at Castiel. He looks like he wants to say more, but he turns and begins to storm out of the bedroom, his hands grabbing the doorframe and stopping him just before he exits. “When do you leave?” he asks, back still turned away from Castiel. 

“Tonight. On a redeye. My mother is sending a car to pick me up.”

Dean’s knuckles tighten around the doorframe before letting go. A few seconds later, he disappears and the bathroom door slams closed with such force that Castiel thinks it might’ve actually broke.

Castiel realizes that he still hasn’t left where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. His hands are stiff now, aching with the way he’s been holding onto the mattress like it’s a damn life raft, but it was no use, he’s still drowning. 

Wave after wave of regret and anguish crash over him until he can’t see anything else. He stares at the empty doorway and tries to breathe but he can’t seem to steady himself. It’s too much happening at once and it feels like the entire ocean is sucking him under, suffocating and crushing. Even as he struggles to remind himself exactly why he’s doing this, his mind races to think of a way out of it. Maybe after a few months his mother will be more easily persuaded, or maybe he can convince Michael to be on his side for once, because surely Michael doesn’t actually want him back at the office. If he plays his cards right— 

A loud bang from the bathroom snaps Castiel back to his current reality. He needs to pack his things, not that it’ll take long, but it’s best to get it over with. Forcing himself to stand, he trudges across the room to the closet feeling about a thousand pounds heavier than normal. What he’s acquired over the past several months has mostly been clothing, so he’ll just leave most of it with Dean. As he opens the bottom drawer of the dresser, he grabs his favorite pair of flannel pajama bottoms and stops when he sees Dean’s ACDC shirt. Running his hand along the worn fabric, Castiel almost takes it for himself, but he closes the drawer without it. He’s upsetting Dean enough, he doesn’t need to steal his shirt, too. 

Castiel is fighting back the urge to tip the dresser over and throw all the clothes across the room when Dean clears his throat from behind him. When he turns around, Dean’s face is bright red and his hair is still dripping wet, a towel tucked neatly around his trim waist. Castiel’s eyes roam over Dean’s body (he can’t help it, the man is sex incarnate), and it’s a body he’s gotten to know so very intimately. The thought of not falling asleep in those arms every night sends a spike of nausea coursing through his gut. He feels dizzy. 

To distract himself, he digs back through the same drawer and pulls out a pair of light blue cotton pants and a white v-neck tee, setting them both down on the bed for Dean to wear. 

Dean speaks as he grabs the pants and begins to put them on. “Listen, Cas. I’m sorry, okay? You completely caught me off guard this morning and I was kind of an ass.” He pauses to slip the t-shirt on over his head. “But I need to know the truth; is what you said last night at all true? Do you love me?” 

This makes Castiel freeze. What kind of question is that? How could Dean not know? 

“Of course I love you.  _ Of course _ I do.” He tries to pour as much of himself into those simple words as possible because if after all is said and done and Dean only remembers one thing, he hopes it’s the fact that Castiel loved him. 

“Okay then. Let’s make this work. You go to Seattle and get everything in order. Look for a replacement math nerd and train them, whatever you have to do. That’ll take you, what? A few weeks? A couple of months, maybe? I’m sure Ellen will work something out with you, and I’ll wait. You know that, right? I’ll wait for you.” 

“Dean… it’s— it’s not that simple.” 

“Why not? You think it’ll take longer? I can wait however long you need. It’ll suck, but maybe you can come back to visit sometimes?” Dean’s voice is hopeful as he chokes back his emotion. “Or I can take some time off and make a road trip up to see you.” 

“Dean—” 

“It can be that simple, Cas,” he pleads, more frantic now. “Look, I’ll call in sick to work today. Bobby will understand when I tell him what’s going on, then we can go explain things to Ellen. After that, you and I can have the day and we’ll figure this all out. Together.” 

“I already told Ellen I would go in today and prepare her books for the month. I’ve got paperwork to finish up and I’ll be showing Benny how to run some of the analytics programs I’ve installed for the inventory.”

“Ellen knows?” 

“I told her yesterday,” he answers sheepishly, swallowing back tears as he sees Dean’s face fall. “I was going to tell you when I got home last night but then… but then you told me you loved me, and… and I didn’t want to ruin that. It was selfish, but I wanted to know what it felt like to be loved by you. Even if it was just for one night.” 

Dean steps forward and Castiel holds his breath. When Dean reaches up and caresses the side of his face, rubbing a thumb along his cheekbone, Castiel’s tears finally fall.

“You’ve already known what it’s like, Cas, because I’ve loved you since the day you tried to start my house on fire.” Dean smirks and Castiel’s laugh turns into a sniffle. “I never told you this, but I’d just come back from the courthouse that day. I had to meet my probation officer and I was having the worst fucking day, but coming home to you was— well, we weren’t even together yet but I was already falling for you. Then you went and got all weird and cute about salt water taffy and we spent the evening up on Seabreeze Point, and it was better than any date I’d ever been on even though it wasn’t even a date at all. I knew then that I wanted you to stay with me.” 

Castiel’s tears are flowing freely now and Dean leans in to kiss him. Castiel kisses back, desperate and firm. He tastes his salty tears between them but Dean licks them off his lips and then kisses them away from his cheek. They stay holding each other for several more minutes before they break apart and get ready for work. 

To keep distracted, Castiel throws himself into his work at The Roadhouse. He trains Benny all morning and answers any questions Benny tosses his way. Ellen arrives in the early afternoon and they organize the last of the files Castiel put together and prepare as much as possible for the coming month. No one dares mention his leaving until Benny tentatively asks if Charlie’s heard the news yet. She hasn’t. Castiel knows he’s putting it off and that he can’t any longer, so he pulls out his phone. After a lot of questions and a lot of shouting, she agrees to come say goodbye before he leaves. 

When he goes back to the house to finish packing and gather his things, to his surprise Dean is already there and waiting for him. Castiel tries to offer to pay him rent money in advance or at least pay for a house cleaner to come clean up after him, but Dean refuses. Instead, Dean makes them tea while he finishes the last bit of packing. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Dean says, handing over a mug. “You don’t owe them anything. Not after what they did to you.” 

“I told you, this isn’t about them,” he lies. 

“Then what’s it really about? Because I gotta tell ya, I’ve spent my entire day trying to figure it out and I can’t make sense of it, Cas.” Dean’s words are firm and frustrated. “If you didn’t love me, that’s one thing. I could chalk this up to you wanting to bail. But after last night, even I can tell that’s not true.” 

Castiel zips up his backpack, the same one he had with him when Dean found him. It’s been hiding under the bed ever since Castiel got his own room in the house, and it makes his heart break to realize how far he’s come, just to have to throw it all away now. 

_ Not throw it away _ , he reminds himself,  _ to help Dean _ . 

“I do love you but—” Castiel has to continue the lie. It’s the only way. “I don’t belong here. I never did.” 

“Come on, man. Don’t say that.” 

“It’s true.” The way Castiel’s heart clenches with each word is painful in a way that makes it hard to breathe, but he says them anyway. 

“And what? You think you belong in Seattle? You think that’s a better fit for you?!” Dean’s eyes are sad and searching, but Castiel can’t muster a response. “Alright then. I’ll go with you.” 

“What?”

“I’ll talk to Bobby and start looking for a job in Seattle. It’ll take me some time before I’m able to leave, but—” 

“Dammit, Dean!” Castiel interrupts, more harshly than he intended. “You can’t. You just can’t, okay? I have to go. Please stop making this harder than it already is.” 

The stunned look on Dean’s face is more than he can bear, so he turns away to hide the emotions on his own, biting down on his lip hard enough to distract himself from pain in his chest. 

“So this is it, then?” Dean asks, angry and afraid. 

“The car is picking me up from The Roadhouse at eight-thirty. That’s where I’ll be.” He grabs his backpack and heads towards the front door. “I hope you’ll come say goodbye.” 

It’s not the way he saw this playing out. It’s not the way he wants to leave things with Dean. But he doesn’t know what other choice he has. Dean is filled with so much hope for the two of them and it’s exactly why Castiel never deserved him in the first place. If he doesn’t get out of this house now, he never will.

So he walks out the front door for the last time and Dean doesn’t try to stop him. 

Castiel circles the block four times before he stops crying.

*****

**_8:15pm_ **

Castiel has said his goodbyes to Ellen and Benny. Even Bobby stopped by for a brief visit earlier. Charlie won’t leave his side and even though Donna wasn’t able to make it into town, she’s called him twice and sent about a dozen messages. 

All Castiel can do is keep watching the door for Dean. 

**_8:25pm_ **

The town car pulls up to the curb. He asked everyone not to make a big deal or to walk him out, so they respect his wishes, except for Charlie, of course. Charlie’s standing on the curb with him when the driver loads his backpack into the trunk and opens the passenger door. 

Castiel keeps looking down the street. 

“I know you wanted him here. It’s probably just too hard for him. Call him when you land, okay?” Charlie says, knowing exactly why he’s been moving so slowly. 

“I hurt him, Charlie. He probably won’t ever want to talk to me again.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. You two will figure something out. I have faith.”

Castiel kisses her on the cheek. “Thanks for everything.” 

“Don’t be a stranger. Call me.” 

**_8:29pm_ **

“Sir?” The driver says, still standing next to the opened passenger door, his polite way of telling Castiel to hurry the hell up and get in. 

Castiel complies after one more tight hug from Charlie. He gets inside and just as the driver is closing his door, he hears him. 

“Cas! Cas wait!” 

Much to the driver’s annoyance, Castiel puts his hand on the door to stop him and climbs out in time to see Dean running up to the car. Charlie squeals something unintelligible and then announces that she’s going back inside. 

“You made it.” 

“Cas, listen. You don’t have to do this, but if you do, I need you to know that I’ll still be here, so call me. I need you to call me, okay? Let me know that you’re alright. Because I love you.” 

The tears Dean was fighting back begin to fall and it’s Castiel’s turn to kiss them away.

“I’ll never be able to thank you for what you’ve done for me, but knowing you has been the greatest joy of my life. I love you, too, Dean.” 

They pull each other into a crushing hug and hold on until the driver clears his throat. He kisses Dean sweetly one last time and climbs into the car. 

He watches Dean get smaller in the side view mirror until he’s completely out of sight. 

***

Monday morning, Castiel is back at work at Novak Aviation. 

A driver had been waiting at the airport Saturday night to take him back to his old apartment, where it’s sat untouched for months. His mother stopped by Sunday morning to check that he was there and to hand him over his new company-issued phone, informing him that his old phone had been wiped clean of all contacts and that she had taken the liberty of adding only the necessary business contacts back in. This meant that she wasn’t aware of his other phone, the one under Dean’s name as part of his “family plan.” That’s no matter, though, because Castiel turned off that phone before he even arrived at the airport and it’s been hiding in his sock drawer since the moment he returned home. 

_ Home _ .  He’s not even sure what that means anymore. Seattle is where he’s lived his entire life, but it certainly doesn’t feel like home anymore. He’s not sure that it ever really did. San Seton has felt more like home to him in the past months, but can you call a place you’re never going back to “home”? Probably not. 

Maybe he really is homeless, after all. Maybe he’s always going to be. 

The thought kept him in bed all day Sunday. He didn’t bother to unpack or to even eat. The only time he got out of bed was to open the door for his mother, but the moment she was gone, he crawled back under the covers and kept the shades closed. 

Now, at his old desk in his old office with stacks of paperwork piled high, he misses the bed. 

“Welcome back, traitor,” a sassy voice says from his office doorway. 

“Well hello to you, too, Meg. What do you want?” Castiel has never had any real friends at work but he’s known Meg for a few years now and even though she’s obnoxious and catty, she’s the closest thing he has to an acquaintance at the office. 

“Wow, is that any way to treat your favorite HR rep?” 

“You’re not— nevermind. What are you doing here? I’ve got tons of work to catch up on and not really in the mood for chit chat.” 

“Okay. Sheesh. I can take a hint. But the boss lady wanted me to see if you needed anything and to make sure you’re not having any trouble with your new phone.” 

“Nope. All good.” 

“You were gone for over six months. You sure there’s nothing you need or want to talk about or…” She lets the question trail off. 

“Get out, Meg.” 

“Alrighty then. You know where to find me if you change your mind. And Castiel?” Meg pauses at the door and waits for him to look up. “It’s good to have you back.” She smiles one of her more genuine smiles and then she disappears down the hall. 

Castiel huffs. As if she even cared he was gone. He isn’t someone particularly memorable or even likable. It’s part of the reason he hasn’t turned on his other phone - now that he’s gone, why would anyone want to keep in touch with him? Dean’s probably feeling sad at least, Castiel can admit that much. In fact, he’s probably even trying to call Castiel, but a clean break is best for everyone. That’s what he tells himself, anyway. If he just gives it a couple of weeks, they’ll forget all about him and his time in San Seton will feel like nothing but a fever dream. 

Perhaps Dean will take a little longer to heal than the rest, but he’ll find someone new, someone better. Dean is too good of a man to be lonely for long. He’ll be okay.

Dean will be okay. 

***

Two more weeks go by and each day is more miserable than the last. If he’s not at work, then Castiel is usually at home and in bed. Sometimes he lays on the couch if he’s feeling adventurous. 

He absolutely hates being back in the same building as his mother, but especially Michael, and even though he rarely sees them, he knows damn well they’re keeping tabs on him. Meg stops by more often than she used to before he left and he’s weary of her - she’s probably been promised a bonus check this Christmas if she plays babysitter. Castiel assumes she reports back to Michael, so he keeps their conversations curt and strictly business related. If she tries to venture into personal questions, he changes the subject or suddenly has to take a very important phone call. It’s tiresome. 

But it turns out that being at work is better than being at home. Well… at his apartment. His empty, Dean-free, cold, and utterly desolate apartment. The silence he returns to each night is deafening. Some nights he thinks he’s getting used to it, but other nights he lays staring at the ceiling fighting back the urge to scream. 

He misses Dean. 

He misses the warmth in the bed next to him and the tickle of hair under his chin when Dean would scoot close. He misses an errant arm over his face when Dean had a restless night’s sleep, or the possessive leg over his thighs when Dean felt especially cuddly. He misses the smell of coffee in the morning and the way Dean would pick up his clothes with a grunt of annoyance if Castiel left a shirt lying on the floor. 

He often wonders if Dean misses him as much, and on the loneliest nights the thought of Dean under the same moon, longing for Castiel in the same way, brings him a sad sort of comfort. Other times he wonders if he’d have been better off never having met Dean altogether, and on the very worst nights, he thinks Dean probably feels the same. 

The neverending cycle is a vicious one and Castiel slips into a melancholy so deep that he’s not sure there’s a way out. If sanity were the sand, then he can feel the tide pulling him further and further out to sea.

At some point during week three, a break in the typical rainy Seattle weather brings the sun. For the first time since he’s been back, Castiel eats his lunch at the park down the block from the office. It’s warm out and the city bustles with people enjoying the reprieve from the daily drizzle. He even catches himself smiling when he spots a young blonde woman walking a pet pig. 

Maybe it’s all the vitamin D he soaked up or maybe it’s just that enough time has passed, but Castiel goes home in the evening and decides to clean his entire apartment. He does his laundry, changes his sheets, and takes out the trash. He opens the windows, lights a candle, and he vacuums. It’s exhausting work, but it’s the best he’s felt since leaving San Seton.

Satisfied with all he’s accomplished, Castiel realizes that there’s one thing he’s still been putting off - he needs to unpack. 

He grabs the backpack that’s been discarded at the back of his closet and sets it on his bed, taking a deep breath knowing that every stupid item inside is going to bring back memories that he’s been trying avoid, but the moment he unzips it he realizes he is way off base - it’s not the items themselves that are going to be the hardest to handle, it’s the scent. He’s instantly overcome with the comforting aroma of Dean’s laundry detergent and their bedsheets. It smells so much like Dean that Castiel’s knees almost give out from under him and he has to sit down at the edge of the mattress.

It smells like…  _ home _ . 

Once he gets control of himself, he begins to unpack the backpack, one item of clothing at a time. When he gets to the last piece, his heart nearly stops. Sitting at the very bottom of the backpack is his favorite shirt, Dean’s AC/DC tee, the one he intentionally put back in the dresser before he left. Folded on top is a note. 

_ Cas,  _

_ I know how much you love this shirt. It’s only right that you keep it with you. I hope you think of me when you wear it.  _

_ I love you - more than there are drops in the ocean,  _

_ Dean _

_ P.S. I stole your hoodie. I’d apologize but if you’re mad at me about it, you should come back and get it. Maybe I’ll hide taffy in the pockets for you. _

Castiel reads the letter six times before his shaking hands put it down. He picks up the ACDC shirt and holds it to his face, breathing it in deeply. Then, every tear that he’s fought back, every tear he’s refused to cry since he boarded that plane back to Seattle, they all come rushing out of him. 

He turns off the lights and crawls into bed. He falls asleep with the shirt clutched tightly in his fist and the smell of Dean on the pillow next to him. 

Thank goodness the next morning is a Saturday because Castiel wakes up with his eyes red and puffy and his heart heavy. He feels a longing in his chest that physically aches for something familiar and comforting, and it suddenly dawns on him that he doesn’t just miss Dean, he misses The Roadhouse and Ellen and Benny, he misses Charlie and Donna and saltwater taffy, and he misses Bagyo Bay and holding Dean’s hand on the bluffs and clam chowder. He even misses riding shotgun in Baby.

It takes him a minute to realize it, but when he does, it hits him like a tidal wave - he’s  _ homesick _ . 

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, Castiel grabs his phone from the sock drawer and then crawls back into bed. His heart is beating in his throat and his palms are sweaty when he plugs in the charger and turns it on. It feels like a lifetime waiting for the phone to boot up and he fights against the very real fear that when it does, there will be nothing waiting for him. 

The fear couldn’t be more off base. The phone lights up with dings and notifications, telling him that he has more voicemails and text messages than he could have possibly imagined. There are exactly twenty-nine voicemails and over two hundred text messages. One quick glance at the texts and Castiel laughs out loud in his empty apartment seeing that most of them are from Charlie, and most full of emojis and GIFs. He’s going to have fun reading those, but before he does, he wants to listen to the messages because other than two from Charlie and one from Ellen, they’re all from Dean.

He hits play on the first voicemail. 

**MSG 1** :  _ Hey, Cas. You’re probably boarding the plane or something right now, but I uh... I just wanted to… well I guess I just hate how fast you left, man. I feel like we didn’t even get a chance to really say goodbye and… I don’t know… is it weird to say that I miss you already? Anyway, call me when you get this. I don’t care what time it is. I just want to make sure you get there safely. And uh… I love you. Yeah. Okay. Bye. _

**MSG 2** :  _ Hey, Cas. I know it’s late but I was hoping you’d landed by now. I don’t even know what flight you were on but anyway, can you call me? Okay. Goodnight.  _

**MSG 3:** _Hey, Cas. It’s me. Obviously. I haven’t heard from you and I’m worried, so call me. Please._

**MSG 4:** _ So I checked and there are no reports of any air disasters. I know you got there but what I don’t know is why you’re not calling me back. Is everything okay? _

**MSG 5** :  _ Listen, I’m confused here, alright? You left so fast and… and I’m not sure what even happened anymore. You weren’t trying to break up with me, right? Not for good. I mean, I know you’re there and I’m here, but we’re still going to try and work this out, aren’t we? Because we aren’t done, Cas. I’m in love with you and that’s not gonna stop just because you’re in another state. So call me. Please? I just… I need you to call me. This thing between us, it isn’t over. Okay? Okay. Call me back.  _

Castiel listens to the messages with his eyes closed, hearing the hurt and the worry in Dean’s voice as the first several messages gradually become more desperate. He had been so sure that his own grief would be worse somehow and that Dean would easily move on because he never fully accepted that Dean could love him as much and he loves Dean. But the truth is, he broke Dean’s heart. He left Dean standing on a sidewalk wondering what was going to happen between them, and for three weeks, he hasn’t even bothered to so much as turn on his phone.

He chokes back a sob when he imagines how he would've felt had the roles been reversed, and then he presses play on the next messages. He deserves the pain of listening to every single one.

**MSG 9:** _I don’t know if you’re getting these messages or not, but I want you to know that I’m not disconnecting your phone. I’m still hoping that you actually call back soon. I miss you. And I hope Michael isn’t being a dick. If he needs to be punched in the face again, just let me know._

After message nine or so, Dean gets into the habit of leaving one voicemail every night. Some of those messages sound so normal, like they’re having a simple conversation before going to bed. Some of them even make Castiel laugh, but those are fleeting.

**MSG 14** :  _ I really miss you, Cas. Can you hear me praying to you every night? I know you grew up religious and so I keep trying anything I can think of, hoping something will stick. I’m getting desperate here. I even have Sam trying to help me. He says ‘hi’, by the way. Sarah, too. And everyone else. We all miss you.  _

By the time he gets to the last message, he’s gone through an entire rollercoaster of emotions right alongside Dean’s own. Dean went from utterly heartbroken to confused, to angry, and then just sad (and Castiel’s pretty sure he was drunk for some of them, too).

He takes a deep, steadying breath before hitting play.

**MSG 29** :  _ Hey, Cas. I don’t know what to do anymore, man. You should be home. You belong here, not in stupid fucking Seattle. We need you, Cas. I… I need you.  _

When the message ends, the phone sits hot in his hand and he can hear his own pulse behind his ears. Castiel wants to cry but he has no more tears left. Exhausted and rundown with emotion, he stares at the picture on his screen - a picture of the two of them. Dean had set the background for him after one of their trips to Bagyo Bay. In it, they’re laughing and the ocean is behind them. Dean looks stunning and even though it’s not noticeable, he remembers they both had a mouthful of taffy when Dean pulled them in for the picture. 

Dean asked him to come  _ home _ . Dean  _ needs  _ him. 

But one quick glance at the date tells Castiel that the last message was two days ago. A voicemail every single night without fail for days on end, and now they’ve stopped. Castiel sits bolt upright and panicked at the hopeless realization that Dean may have just slipped from his grasp like sand through his fingertips, and all because he was being an idiot.

The words of the final message ring in his ears. Twenty-six messages from Dean and it’s finally enough to make Castiel truly realize that this wasn’t some one-sided fling. That Dean’s hurting as much as he is because what they have is real and it  _ means something, _ and if it’s not already too late, he’s not going to let Dean spend one more second thinking that Castiel abandoned him. 

_ Please, God, don’t let it be too late.  _

Before he can think about it, he presses the very first contact listed under his “favorites”. With a trembling breath and his heart beating wildly against his ribcage, he listens to three rings. 

“Cas?” a breathless voice says over the line. 

“Hello, Dean.”


	15. Chapter 15

The first week after Cas left was… well… a bit of a clusterfuck.

Dean felt like his head had been left spinning, having had less than a day to process the news that Cas was moving back to Seattle. Everything happened so fast and none of it made any sense. It still doesn’t, as far as he’s concerned. 

After he watched Cas drive away in that stupid fancy town car, it was all he could do to just keep himself standing. His hands shook and his heart was in his throat, choking him as he held back his tears. It was Ellen who found him like that, still stationed motionless on the sidewalk and staring at the taillights long out of view. 

She placed a hand on his shoulder and he pulled away, whipping around to see that there was hurt in her eyes, too, but he didn’t care. Dean was in disbelief and he needed to be alone.

“Dean, honey…” she said softly. 

“I have to go. I won’t be at dinner tomorrow. Apologize to Jody for me, will you?” 

He turned around and went straight back home, ignoring the way Charlie called out his name as she appeared next to Ellen. He didn’t want pity or condolences or words of comfort because he didn’t need them. Cas would be back. It was just a fluke, a mistake, a misunderstanding. He was sure of it.  _ Cas would be back _ . 

That night, Dean ignored every text he received, even the ones from Donna, but he couldn’t turn off his phone as much as he wanted to. He needed it on for when Cas called. Even after leaving two messages, Dean stayed up until well after dawn waiting, praying for his phone to ring, praying for Cas to hear him. That’s what praying is, right? Just a form of begging to a God that may or may not be listening… or care. Even though he really didn’t expect it to help (why would it when God had never answered him before?), Cas believed in that kind of thing - sort of - so Dean tried it, and he kept trying it. Every night. 

Sleep continued to evade him, and with Cas radio silent and his bed empty, Dean walked a fine line between hope and misery those first several days. Some nights a bottle of whiskey kept him company but he always ended up feeling ten times worse in the morning. Either way, drunk or sober, the heartache only grew, and still he waited. Night after night he stayed awake waiting for a call that didn’t come.

Despite the distress of the first week, the second week without Cas was the hardest. 

The small glimmer of hope that Cas would change his mind and come home, the hope that Dean had been desperately grasping onto for the sake of self-preservation, dissolved into a simmering, jilted anger. Dean felt less optimistic and more betrayed, and he was so  _ angry _ that it bled right into his other relationships. He was a miserable son of a bitch to be around and he knew it, and if he was about to forget it, Bobby especially made sure to remind him. 

One evening, Donna stopped by and brought him dinner. They got to talking and, despite his better judgment and overall grumpy attitude, she eventually worked her magic and convinced him to go to The Roadhouse to hang out with Charlie, Benny, and Sam. His friends were excited to see him but he barely lasted thirty minutes before his foul mood sent him home after he ran into Ellen in the back hallway. 

“Hi, honey. It’s nice to see you out with friends. Feeling better?” 

Something about the question rubbed him the wrong way.  _ Better _ ? Was she serious? Cas had gone and disappeared, he didn’t know what the hell to do or think, he'd been completely left in the dust - what could possibly get  _ better  _ about that? 

“No,” he snapped. “Far fucking from it.” 

Dean knew that he hadn’t been great company to begin with but any small morsel of enjoyment he might’ve found by being with his friends that night was snatched away. 

“Hey, what’s going on? Have you still not heard from him?”

“What do you think?” His words were biting. He couldn't stop himself. 

“Alright young man. I know you’re hurting, but there’s no need to get an attitude with me.”

“Well it’s your fault!” he yelled without thinking, softening slightly when he saw Ellen take a step back in surprise. “I told you. _ I told you _ he’d leave. I didn’t think it would be this soon, _ but I told you. _ ” Tears began to crowd his eyes despite his best efforts.

“Dean, honey…” 

“I told him I loved him, just like you said I should. I told him and he left me anyway, Mama. You said he’d stay, but he didn’t stay and now he’s gone and it’s your fault! I thought he’d stay, he was supposed to—” 

Ellen yanked him into a firm embrace as unexpected sobs wracked his body and he buried his head in her shoulder. Even though they both knew it wasn’t really her fault, she accepted the blame anyway, because that’s what mothers do for their sons. At least the good ones do. After that, she let him slip out the backdoor so he wouldn’t have to see anyone else, promising to tell the rest of the group that he’d gone home. 

The next morning, Donna showed up with a suitcase and without waiting for permission, she made herself at home in the spare bedroom where she stayed for the next four days. He acted pissed as hell about it for the first few hours, but she can be even more stubborn than Dean when she wants to be. 

Ultimately, he appreciated the company, and it was only a matter of time before he opened up to her.

“So let me get this straight, you confessed your love, he said it back, you had mindblowing sex, and then he just…  _ poof… _ said he was leaving? Just like that? Even after all the sex?” 

“Yup,” he confirmed, popping the “p” sound for emphasis while pouring them another round of shots, already feeling good and tipsy.

“Were you that bad at it… at the sex?” she asked, holding her open palm up to the side of her mouth in a mock whisper, even though they were the only two in the house.

“Donna!”

“Okay. Alright,” she laughed, throwing her hands up in surrender. “I get it. You’re good at sex. Sheesh. You know, one of these days I’m going to find something that you suck at, other than dick, obviously, and when that day comes I’m buying a fucking lottery ticket.” 

Dean threw his head back in laughter for the first time since Cas left, and for one single, solitary second, he forgot how much his heart was still hurting. 

Clinking their shotglasses together out of habit, they swallowed back the tequila with matching grimaces. Tequila has never been his favorite but Donna supplied the booze, so he knew better than to say a damn word about it.

“Well assuming you’re as good in bed as you say you are, Cas up and leaving like that just doesn’t seem right. It doesn’t sound like our sweet little unassuming angel Cas.” She ignored him when he rolled his eyes at her description of  _ his _ boyfriend. “There’s gotta be more to it.”

Ever since the truth about Cas’s identity got around, everyone dropped the name Steve and began calling him Cas. Dean had been using the name so long by that point that it wasn’t really all that weird or difficult for everyone to make the change. He was, however, a little miffed at first when it was no longer something just the two of them shared, but Cas said he appreciated the way their friends still accepted him, and that made all the difference.

“That’s what I’ve been tryin’ to saaaaay. It’s fucked up, right?” Dean pouted, the alcohol warming his face and tingling his fingers, making him feel extra chatty with his best friend… second best friend? Wait, was Cas technically his best friend now? Can he have two? Can a boyfriend be a best friend at the same time? Was Cas even still his boyfriend? These were all questions he posed to Donna who tried her best to follow along. 

“I vote that you get two besties - one you bone and one you don’t,” she reasoned. Dean agreed. “Hold on, where’s your laptop?”

He stumbled to his bedroom to grab it and handed it over. “Whatcha need it for?” 

“We’re gonna find him and I’m gonna ask him why he’s such an idiot for leaving someone as gorgeous as you. I’m gonna tell him all his taffy privileges are revoked and then you're gonna tell him to get his ass back here… so you can tap it again.” 

They both fell into a fit of giggles and it was like they were back to being teenagers again. Donna has helped him through every breakup Dean’s ever had, and vice versa, and despite the fact that he refused to accept that that’s what this was - a breakup - he was extremely grateful that she was around for him anyway.

“Waddya mean you’re gonna find him?”

“I’m gonna get a contact number for where he works and first thing tomorrow, we’re going to call.” 

“I already tried that. No dice. The receptionist, usually some bitch named Hannah, just tells me that he’s unavailable and not taking calls. They say they’ll give him the message, but I doubt they ever do.” He slumped back against the couch feeling defeated for the thousandth time that week. “Hell, I even had Sam and Sarah see if they could find me a different number, a more direct one. Sarah found one for their general accounting office, but even that line had a receptionist who said the same damn thing. I swear it’s like they already knew who I was or somethin.’”

“Hmmmm. Then we’ll have Sam call! He can say he’s from a law firm, use all that fancy lingo and say that he has an urgent matter to discuss with Cas. What’s Cas’s middle name? Sam can use his whole name to make it sound super legal and scary.”

“That’s actually genius! Hey, anyone ever tell you that you would’a make a great cop in another life?”

“I can see it,” she nodded, before adding, “and I still think you should’a been a brewmaster and opened your own brewery.” 

“You just say that because you want free beers for life.” 

“Oh yeah. You betcha!” 

The next morning, after having listened to Sam explain all the ways that impersonating a lawyer is illegal and could lead to trouble, Donna eventually got Sam to agree to at least try. He refused to fully commit to identifying himself as an actual attorney ( _ I haven’t passed the BAR yet, Dean _ ), and whether or not the receptionist saw through his lie or she just didn’t care, Sam couldn’t get through to Cas either. 

For a while it made Dean worried that something was really wrong and that maybe Cas wasn’t even back at the office at all. Maybe it was just some ruse and Michael did something to hurt him. The thought made Dean sick and even though both Sam and Donna tried to explain how outrageous the idea was, he couldn’t shake it.

At least not until Sarah found proof to the contrary. 

Knowing how worried he’d been, Sarah did some digging of her own. She somehow managed to find a copy of Novak Aviation’s internal monthly newsletter and emailed it to him. Right there on the front page was a headline announcing Cas’s return from a “voluntary leave of absence,” and just below the header was his picture. Dean’s jaw dropped. 

Cas was standing casually with his hands in his pockets in front of a large, glass desk with a black leather chair behind it. The backdrop was floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the Seattle skyline, proving Cas’s office to be several stories up, excessively large, and with a stunning view. From what Dean could tell, the space looked like it belonged to a rich CEO, or at least someone with a hell of a lot more importance than Cas ever let on. It was worlds away from the tiny closet of a space Cas had been sharing with Ellen, and even the expensive desk made anything Dean’s ever built look like something slapped together by a high school shop class dropout. The lack of personal effects in the office, which was furnished with modern and colorless decor, added to the polished yet rigid impression of the photograph. It was everything Dean knew Cas wasn’t, and it made his stomach turn.

Even more shocking than the office itself was the man pictured in it. Dean recognized Cas immediately, except that it looked like Cas’s fairy godmother had taken out her wand and showered him in money until he came out the other side looking like a Wall Street billionaire. He was dressed in a suit that was easily more expensive than the contents of Dean’s entire house. Dark grey and paired with a light blue dress shirt underneath a grey waistcoat and a navy blue tie, the suit was perfectly tailored to accentuate every curve of Cas’s toned body. He looked like a fuckin’ GQ model, regal and sophisticated. His hair was styled and tamed, the only time Dean’s ever seen it like that. To top it all off… Cas was  _ smiling _ . 

Right then it hit Dean like a sucker punch to the gut, knocking the wind from his lungs - Cas wasn’t hurt or in danger, he was exactly where he wanted to be. He was back in his world, one of wealth and status and Ivy League education, one where Dean certainly didn’t belong. No wonder Cas didn’t want Dean following him to Seattle because no fuckin’ way he could’ve even pretended to fit in there. 

As much as Dean didn’t want to admit it, Cas appeared to be every part the elite businessman, like he’d fulfilled a role that was always meant to be his, and he did it with polished ease. Hell, Cas was probably out having dinner on a yacht somewhere, laughing and discussing the stock market over a glass of scotch with other men who also spent thousands of dollars on a single suit. Wherever he was, he certainly wasn’t sitting at home and thinking about Dean, in his dirty jeans with his calloused hands in a house behind a junkyard.

Cas was so outrageously out of his league that Dean spent that night on the bathroom floor, waiting to be sick while trying to comprehend how he’d been so embarrassingly out of touch with Cas’s reality. 

So yeah, the second week was the absolute fucking worst. 

Donna allowed him exactly one day to feel sorry for himself before showing up at his house again, this time with Charlie. They ordered pizza, watched  _ Top Gun _ , and then the two women gave Dean the best pep-talk they could muster. Thankfully, they did so without also talking shit about Cas. Dean may have been feeling abandoned and entirely worthless, but he still loved the rich idiot, and his friends respected that. 

The third week was just more heartache, if he was being honest. 

Each day his emotions seemed to fall into the same, monotonous pattern. He’d wake up feeling determined and slightly more hopeful than he had the night before, but he would gradually wear down throughout the day until he went to sleep with his heart heavy and his bed still empty. The only tangible balm to his heartache was the hoodie - the one he stole out of Cas’s backpack before he left, exchanging it for the AC/DC shirt that Cas commandeered on his very first night at Dean’s house. Dean figured it was a fair trade and besides, with all those fancy suits, would Cas even miss it? (Dean certainly hoped so). 

With the hoodie on the pillow next to him and despite now having seen a glimpse into what Cas’s Seattle life was like, Dean continued to make his nightly calls to Cas’s voicemail. Even after three weeks, he still left a message every night, though he liked to think they were getting less desperate. Choosing to stop altogether or even to just skip a night felt entirely too much like he was giving up on Cas, giving up on  _ them _ , and he wasn’t ready for that. He wasn’t ready to let go, no matter how much Benny and Sam suggested he should. Donna and Charlie were more understanding, but he could tell that even their optimism was wearing thin.

But Cas is the best thing that’s ever happened to him, and Dean would be damned before he gave him up without giving it every last fighting chance he had. So he kept calling. 

He kept calling until he couldn’t anymore. 

Two nights ago, he tried to leave another message, but instead of Cas’s voicemail, he got an automated message:  _ We’re sorry. The voicemail box is full and cannot accept messages at this time. Please try your call again later.  _

Dean lost track of time while staring at the phone in disbelief, calling the number at least six more times, willing for it to have been a mistake. It wasn’t. So not only was Cas not calling him back, he wasn’t even listening to the messages. Fucking awesome. 

After one final soul crushing breakdown, he finally decided it was time to let go. If Cas could walk away from this so easily and not look back, why would Dean keep holding onto something that was clearly never his to begin with? He needed to accept that what they had together was amazing, but temporary. 

It’s been a long two days since then and he still can’t yet shake the feeling that he’s somehow letting Cas down, but throwing himself into work helps him get through the day. 

“You look like shit, man,” Cesar says from the other side of the hood of the 2006 Dodge Charger they have in the shop. 

Dean huffs. “Gee, thanks.” 

“You still not able to get any sleep?” Dean’s lack of a verbal reply is answer enough. “I have some tea at home, the herbal stuff. It’s a homemade blend that’s been passed down through my family. It should help you sleep. I can bring some if you’d like.” 

“Thanks, but I’m not sure tea is gonna do the trick.”

“Listen, I’m not saying it’ll work miracles and I know as much as anyone that hearts don’t heal overnight, but a solid eight hours of sleep would be a good place to start.” The look on Cesar’s face is one of understanding but Dean doesn’t want to be understood, he wants to crawl out of his own damn skin.

“Sure. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try,” he says, mostly as a way of ending the conversation.

Cesar doesn’t push it and even though he looks like he wants to say more, he keeps quiet. They get to work on the Charger’s engine and Dean lets all outside thoughts slip away. He’s so focused on what his hands are doing that when his phone rings in his pocket, he jumps. 

“Ow.  _ Fuck _ ,” he grumbles, rubbing the back of his head where it his the hood of the car. Irritated at the interruption, Dean yanks the phone from his pocket and glances at the screen. He’s ready to give Sam an earful until he sees the name of the caller. His heart leaps to his throat and he drops the wrench he was holding when his hand goes slack. 

He swipes his thumb across the screen to answer the call. 

“Cas?” 

“Hello, Dean.” 

Wide-eyed and unsure of what’s happening, he looks up at Cesar whose mouth is upturned with a hint of a smirk. Cesar nods to the back door that leads to the junkyard, giving Dean permission to take his phone call in private. 

He takes off out the door but by the time he’s outside, neither he nor Cas have said another word. He looks at his phone to make sure the call is still connected. He’s been waiting for this phone call for weeks, though it’s felt like months, and now that Cas is on the other end of the line, he doesn’t know what to say. What can he say that he hasn’t already? 

“I left you messages.” 

“I know.” 

Dean waits another few seconds to hear more, but Cas doesn’t continue. 

“Is that all you called to say?” An entire tornado of emotions swirl inside him all at once. He’s relieved to hear Cas’s voice yet frustrated it took so long, overjoyed that Cas is calling yet infuriated that he’s been kept waiting for such a small gesture. “Because I’ve been trying to—”

“I’m sorry,” Cas says, like the words have been sitting on his tongue, waiting for an opportunity to escape. “I know and I’m so sorry.”

Dean’s mouth snaps shut, unsure of how exactly he intends to react. He wants to crumble to the ground in relief and at the same time he wants to scream into the receiver, to demand the answers he knows he’s owed.

Unable to choose between the two quickly enough, his brain offers silence instead.

“Dean?” 

“Yeah, Cas. I’m here.” He hears a sigh on the other end of the line and he knows Cas well enough to know that he’s nervous. For some reason, that little snippet of knowledge is enough to soften his reserve. “It’s so good to hear your voice.” 

“Yours, too.” They share a collective breath and there’s another long pause before Cas speaks again. “Are you okay?” 

“That’s an awfully loaded question. Do you really wanna hear the truth?” Dean tries not to sound bitter, but he needs to know if Cas is making small talk, or if he really wants to actually  _ talk _ . 

“Of course, Dean. That’s all I ever want from you.” 

Dean melts at the way Cas sounds so genuine, concern wrapped around earnest curiosity, and just like that, Dean’s willing to break his mending heart wide open for him all over again if it means he gets to hear Cas’s voice on the other end of the line one more time. 

“Alright then,” Dean says, his breath stuttering with nerves. “Can you call me back? Tonight? I’m at work and Bobby’s been patient with me, but I can’t keep pushing his buttons, so I gotta get back before he notices I’m gone, but I want to talk.”

“Oh. My apologies. I didn’t mean to interrupt your day.” He sounds sad and Dean wonders for a moment if Cas is going to hang up without another word. “When should I call you back?”

Taking the chance that Cas may not follow through, Dean’s rightfully hesitant to end the call. He could easily talk himself out of trouble with Bobby, so that’s not really an issue, but before he pours his heart out, a small assurance in the form of a return call is really the least Cas can do. Dean takes the risk. 

“Call me at seven? And I mean seven o’clock  _ tonight _ . Not three weeks from now,” he adds, unable to keep his reply free from sarcasm.

Cas swallows. “Okay.” 

“And Cas? If you don’t intend to—”

“I’ll call. I promise I’ll call.” There’s a hint of pained regret in Cas’s words and Dean wants to believe them.

“I guess I’ll talk to you later then.” 

“Goodbye, Dean.” 

After taking a moment to shake off his nerves and calm the mix of emotions still swirling uncomfortably around in his insides, Dean shoves his phone back in his pocket and gets back to work, waving off the inquiring look from Cesar, who thankfully lets him be. 

The day drags on and as the hours tick by, he’s not entirely sure if he’s more nervous or excited for the pending conversation with Cas. When he gets home and takes an entirely too quick shower and can hardly touch his dinner, he realizes it’s both. Then he reminds himself of the very real possibility that Cas won’t call at all, but Cas has still got his phone and has checked all his messages, so at least there’s that. 

At ten ‘til seven, Dean sets his phone on the coffee table and stares at it from his seat on the couch. His knee bounces in anticipation, his palms are sweaty, and he’s glaring at the phone, willing it to light up with Cas’s name, and  _ screw this _ . He can’t sit still. Pacing the living room instead, he begins to randomly dust the shelves. Sam’s always made fun of the way he cleans when he’s nervous, but he’d rather do something productive than destructive, so cleaning it is. 

All the shelves in the living room are wiped and cleaned along with the top of the tv and the coffee table when he decides to grab a beer from the fridge. A beer should help take the edge off, and he really needs to take the edge off. 

He’s popping the cap off the bottle when he hears his phone ring. After nearly tripping over the back of the couch and almost eating shit in an effort to get to it, Dean forces himself to take a steadying breath before answering, taking note that it’s exactly seven o’clock.

“Right on time,” he answers, hoping he sounds as cool and collected as he thinks he is while leaning against the back of the couch, still too anxious to try and sit still.

“We had an appointment.” 

Dean huffs a laugh. “Yes. Yes we did.” He’d be offended at the use of the overly formal term except he knows Cas well enough to know he meant no harm, but after another awkward bout of silence, Dean feels himself losing patience. “So why’d you call, Cas?”

“I— well, um— I guess I just—“ Cas stutters and then stops. “Maybe this was a mistake,” he finishes, quietly enough that Dean would’ve missed it entirely had every nerve ending in his body not already been hanging on Cas’s every sound. 

The words settle deep into Dean’s gut, weighted and cruel.  _ Maybe this was a mistak _ e. As if he hasn’t already given Cas every benefit of the doubt he could muster. As if his heart hasn’t been shattered over and over again every single day that he wakes up to remember Cas left him. As if he didn’t allow himself to love again, or maybe really for the first time, just to be abandoned in a way he’s feared ever since his parents did the same. 

The potential joy of Cas’s call immediately dissipates, leaving him with an embarrassed anger prickling under his skin. 

“Are you fucking kidding me? You disappear on me without so much as a text message for three weeks, Cas. Three weeks! And now what? You call me just to tell me it was a  _ mistake _ ? Do you have any idea what I’ve been going through?” 

He can practically hear Cas flinch at his raised voice. 

“Dean—” 

“No. Of course you don’t. Why would you? It’s not like you’ve bothered to ask,” he snaps, feeling lightheaded. He’s been waiting for this phone call, but resentment is taking control of his emotions and he’s holding Cas at arm’s length. Maybe this is how it has to be right now.

“Dean, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Cas chokes on the words as they come out. 

“Stop apologizing and just fucking talk to me! Say what you have to say, Cas. Tell me that you’re over me. Go ahead.” Dean’s breathing heavy now, bracing himself for whatever Cas is going to say next, like ripping off the bandaid in one fell swoop. If Cas confirms that it’s really over, then at least he can go to bed at night without the lure of false hope coaxing him into optimistic daydreams of a life together. He can finally move on. For real, this time. 

The silence that follows is so loud that it sucks the air out of the room. 

“I’m not over you. I…” Cas lets out a shaky breath. “I could never be over you.” 

Dean wants to let the phrase consume him, to wrap him up and comfort his aching soul, but it’s not that easy. 

“I saw the picture, Cas.” 

“What do you mean? What picture?”

“Of you. In your office. Wearing a suit that costs more than my damn car.” Dean’s tone has returned to normal, an overwhelming sense of defeat dragging him down. “The article said you were back from a temporary leave of absence. Was that what I was to you? Just a temporary break from your real life? Because I gotta tell you, you looked awfully happy to be right back where you started. I even called your office and I could never get through to you.” 

“How did you— nevermind, it doesn’t matter. Dean, listen—”

“It’s fine, Cas. I get it now. It’s not that you couldn’t fit into my life, it’s that I couldn’t fit into yours, right? So if you’re calling because you feel guilty or some shit, you can stop. I’ll be fine.” He wants to keep going, to say more, to push Cas away before Cas has a chance to land his final blow. But the truth is, a small part of him is still holding on, desperate for a crumb of anything that Cas might say to ease the tightening in his chest even just a little, something that will convince him it wasn’t all for nothing. 

“Dean.  _ Please _ . Would you just wait a second?” The way his voice trembles gives Dean pause and a chance for Cas to continue. “That picture you saw? My mother arranged it. It was all PR, a bullshit fluff piece so no one would find out the truth about why I left. It was her way of convincing everyone that things are under control and peaceful in the Novak family.”

“You were smiling, Cas. It certainly didn’t look like bullshit to me.”

“Because I’m  _ good  _ at playing the part.” Cas swallows and then sighs. “I’ve been doing it my whole life, pretending to be someone I’m not. Don’t you get it? The expensive suits and the town cars and the bougie office - it’s who I’ve been trained to be, but Dean… I’m miserable. I don’t give a shit about any of that stuff.” 

“Sure,” he scoffs. “Must be really tough going back to your life of luxury and more money than most would know what to do with.” He doesn’t mean to sound petulant, though he knows he does. 

“That’s not the p—.” Cas takes a deep breath and a twinge of guilt twists behind Dean’s ribs. Cas is on the phone with him and sure, he’s waited three very long and lonely weeks for this call, but if Dean shuts up for one second and actually listens, he can hear that there’s pain on the other end of the line, too. “What I’m trying to say is that life is hard without  _ you _ . I miss you.”

Dean finally drops to the couch, his shoulders slumping as his aggression seeps out of him, absorbed by the cushions and leaving him feeling vulnerable and far less defensive. 

“What does that mean, Cas? For us?” 

“I don’t know.” Cas says timidly, sounding as worn down as Dean feels. 

After that, the heat of the conversation dissolves into something softer, something warm. 

“I’ve missed you, too, you know.” Dean can hear a slight rustling on the phone and he knows Cas is nodding. “You broke my heart when you left and to be honest, I still don’t understand why you did it. If you’re so miserable, why don’t you just come home, babe?”

He snaps his mouth closed at the way the term of endearment slipped out so carelessly, so effortlessly, like he never stopped using it in the first place. He hears Cas’s sharp inhale and hopes it was one of pleasant surprise. 

“I can’t.” 

“Can’t? Or won’t?” 

After a beat of silence there’s a slight change in Cas’s tone, one that suggests that the wheels in his beautiful brain are turning and that a decision is being made. “Dean, do you trust me?” 

The reply is easy because it’s true. “I never stopped.” 

“Then I need you to trust that I can’t be with you  _ right now  _ and that it’s not because of anything you did or didn’t do. I need you to understand that I’ve never wanted to hurt you.”

Dean knows there’s something there, something buried beneath the surface of everything Cas has said since the day he told Dean he was leaving. He knew it then and he knows it with even more certainty now, and the thought of Cas not sharing that something with him feels like being stranded on a sinking ship without a life raft. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Please, Dean. I need you to believe me when I tell you that I’m lost without you… that I still love you.” His voice is pinched, like his emotions are trying to escape and he’s struggling to hold them back. “I always will.” 

And this is it. Right here. 

Cas isn’t giving an ultimatum, he’s too good for that, but Dean recognizes this moment for what it is - one where a potentially life-altering decision needs to be made. He’s either all in or he’s all out. He either chooses to trust Cas implicitly, or he chooses to walk away. There is no in between and there is no changing the tide once he sets course. 

Cas is asking him to lay his heart on the line, to have blind faith that there is a possibility of a future for them. 

Maybe there is and maybe there isn’t, but what kind of man would he be if he didn’t at least try? If he didn’t risk it all for the man he’s fallen so deeply in love with that it scares him, for the only person in the universe that makes him feel alive in a way that lights his soul on fire? Besides, doesn’t Cas deserve someone who’s not going to turn his back on him for once? Doesn’t Cas deserve to have someone put a little faith in him? The answer is clear before he even has a chance to consider the alternative. 

He’s all in. 

“Okay, Cas. I believe you.” He’s not sure if it’s relief or something else that fills his chest, but whatever it is, he releases it on an exhale.

“You do?” 

“Yes, I do. I love you, you idiot. That hasn’t changed.” Dean can’t help the smile that splits his face, thankful to have the opportunity to say the words again and to feel the familiar warmth of hope and happiness that comes with loving Cas. His world is a brighter place with Cas in it, and if he needs to give him some time before they can be together again, well, it’ll be worth it. “But I do have one condition,” he adds. 

“Anything,” Cas responds eagerly, the smile in his voice apparent, too. 

“You can’t ghost me again, you got that? I can’t do this without you, Cas. I’ll give you whatever you need, I’ll wait for you, but I won’t do it alone.” 

Cas chuckles and it’s one of the sweetest sounds Dean’s ever heard . “Of course, Dean.” Then, after a brief pause, he adds, “Did you really try calling my office?” 

“I take it you never got the messages? I knew that Hannah chick was lying.” 

“You talked to Ha— Dean, you can’t call my office anymore. I’ll keep this phone on and I won’t ‘become a ghost’ again, but you can’t try and reach me at my office. You  _ can’t _ .” 

Dean can practically hear the air quotes and he’d normally poke fun, except that Cas’s tone is serious and slightly panicked, so he doesn’t. “Deal,” he says instead. 

Cas doesn’t bother to hide the heavy sigh of relief he lets out. “Deal.”

Then, like two dumbasses in love, they sit on the phone together in silence. The tension between them is long gone and Dean’s happy to just exist for a moment in a world where he and Cas are together, in whatever way they can be. It’s the most relaxed he’s felt in weeks and exhaustion begins to seep deep into his bones. All at once he can hardly keep his eyes open and he loses track of how long he holds the phone to his ear just listening to Cas breathe on the other side of it. 

“Dean?” Cas finally says quietly, breaking the silence. 

“Hmmm?”

“Does everyone hate me?”

The question makes Dean sit up and blink his eyes open. “No one hates you, Cas. The opposite, actually. Everyone misses you.” And it’s true. If it were anyone other than Cas, his friends would all talk shit about him over a game of pool at The Roadhouse, then they would have a bonfire on the beach where they would drink and burn old pictures while playing angry breakup songs and cursing Cas’s name. It was his and Donna’s breakup tradition and one that his other friends have all participated in at some point, including Sam. 

It’s not that they wouldn’t have done it had Dean asked, it’s that Dean wouldn’t ask. Not for Cas. 

“Are you just saying that?” 

“No. I mean it. Even Ellen doesn’t hate you, and if Ellen doesn’t hate you, you’re usually in the clear.” 

“And Charlie?” Cas asks tentatively. 

“Charlie's been waiting for you almost as much as I have, but I would prepare yourself for an earful when you call her. Maybe send some flowers just in case.” 

Cas laughs again. “Thanks for the warning.” 

With Cas still on the phone, Dean gets up and checks the locks on the front door then flips off all the lights before heading to bed. They continue to talk, though their conversation becomes much less serious, and Cas gets ready for bed, too. An hour later and Dean is falling asleep with his phone on the pillow next to his ear and the call still connected, Cas’s hoodie tucked under his arm. Just before the remaining wisps of consciousness fade to black, he hears a soft, “goodnight, sweetheart.” 

That night, Dean sleeps more soundly than he has since Cas left, probably even longer than that. There are no nightmares jolting him awake, not even restless dreams causing him to toss and turn - he sleeps soundly, peaceful with the knowledge that when he wakes up, Cas is finally only a phone call away.

***

Because Cas is a very smart man with self preservation skills and because Dean is the best non-boyfriend in the history of forever, Charlie is the first person after Dean to get a phone call. As they planned, Cas orders a ridiculously large bouquet of flowers from the local flower shop and Dean picks it up so he can hand-deliver the surprise on Cas’s behalf. He grabs breakfast along the way for an added touch and he texts Cas just before he rings her doorbell. 

The surprise goes off as they’d hoped, the only casualty being Dean’s eardrums when Charlie shrieks as she sees Cas’s name light up her phone just as Dean presents her with the flowers. Word spreads to their friends quickly after that and Dean couldn’t be happier as his phone pings with messages of support and excitement… and questions. 

Dean and Cas had discussed how they were going to handle the questions when they arose and Dean figured it would be best to be candid - he’d tell his friends and family that Cas needs to be in Seattle right now but that they’re still friends and are waiting to see what happens. Just about everyone scoffs at the “just friends” part of the answer, even Bobby grumbles his two cents about it, but the important part is that they trust each other and that they made this decision  _ together _ .

The days carry on and Cas keeps his promise. Dean talks to him almost every night and on the rare occasion that their schedules don’t line up or they can’t be on the phone, they text instead. Every single night, without fail. Life seems to fall back together and even though he still misses Cas, misses his touch and his warmth and his smile, things feel good. Dean can do this. He can wait for Cas for as long as it takes. 

“Are you actually okay with this, Dean? Really?” Donna asks, dipping a french fry in ketchup and popping it into her mouth. 

It’s been about two weeks since Cas called and over a month since he’s been gone. Dean’s been feeling particularly lonely despite speaking to Cas every day, so he decided it was time for dinner with his best friend. He drove to Bagyo Bay, picked her up at her store, and they headed further up the road to their favorite spot for fish and chips.

“I’ve told you a hundred times, yes, I’m okay with it. I mean, it sucks and I miss him, but I think he’s going through something and I’m going to wait it out.” 

“But did he ever actually say explicitly that you two are going to get back together at some point? Or did he just leave it at the fact that he can’t be with you right now?”

With Donna having been out of town visiting her extended family in Minnesota, the two of them haven’t talked much in the past couple of weeks, so as annoying as the questions are, he knows they’re coming from a good place. Dean shrugs. “We haven’t talked in specifics, but I know what he meant.” 

“You sure?” Donna raises a challenging eyebrow in a way that only she can. “How long are you willing to wait before it’s too long? Because if this tunnel doesn’t have a very clear, very bright light at the end of it, how do you ever expect to get over him?” 

He stops for a moment and thinks, purposefully taking an oversized bite of food as an excuse to chew longer to delay his answer. “I don’t know, but I can’t let him go, Donna. It feels  _ right  _ having him in my life, in whatever limited capacity I’m allowed. I’m not about to give him up if I don’t have to.”

“Okay then.” She smiles and pushes her plate away. “But whatever you do, keep your head up and on straight. You’ve got a court date coming up, so no curveballs before then, yeah?” 

“Yeah, yeah. New subject please.” Dean most certainly doesn’t need a reminder that his final probation hearing is only another two weeks away. Other than Cas, it’s the one thing he can’t stop thinking about.

“So where should we go to get dessert?” A cheeky smile spreads across her face and Dean remembers why they’re best friends. 

“That’s my girl.” 

Another week goes by and Dean’s hearing is right around the corner. His nerves tick up a notch with each new day as the date creeps closer. He hasn’t told Cas about it because he doesn’t want to focus on something so nerve wracking during the limited time they have together to talk. He’s nearly mentioned it a few times, but ever since he first confessed to Cas that he’s on probation, they haven’t really brought it up. Cas probably finds the topic uninteresting anyway, but at least it’s never caused him to treat Dean any differently, so it became a subject rarely discussed. It’s easier to keep it that way. 

Monday night, Dean is very much looking forward to Cas’s call. They weren’t able to speak yesterday because Cas had some fancy party to attend and was out late schmoozing with his mother’s friends, but with his hearing on Thursday, Dean could really use the sound of Cas’s voice right about now. 

Already fed and showered, he climbs under the covers after grabbing an extra thick blanket to throw on top of the bed thanks to the recent drop in temperature. Autumn is quickly moving in now, and while San Seton surely has a few good warm days left in store for them, the nights no longer belong to the summer. Settled in, Dean reads to pass the time until Cas calls. The last Harry Potter book is very hard to put down, but he also isn’t ready for the story to end. He’s never been so engrossed in a written series before and the characters practically feel like friends now, so he’s not looking forward to reading the last words on the page and having to say goodbye. What’s he supposed to do after that? Just pick up another book like it’s no big deal? That just doesn’t seem right. He’ll have to remember to ask Charlie for advice. 

The ring of his phone draws him out of the world of Hogwarts and back to reality, and he still can’t help the fluttering feeling behind his ribcage when he sees that it’s Cas. 

“Hiya, Sunshine.”

“Hello.” 

Immediately, Dean can tell there’s something off and that light, fluttering feeling turns to lead and drops to his gut. “What’s wrong?” 

“Wha—? How can you tell something’s wrong?” 

“Because I know you, Cas. Probably better than you think. Now, you wanna tell me what’s going on? Or do I need to guess.” He doubts very much he’d actually be able to guess and get it right, but if he starts guessing, he also knows that Cas will get frustrated enough at his ridiculous theories that Cas will just give in anyway. This time, though, Cas doesn’t give him the chance.

“There’s this person at work, this woman, and she keeps asking to take me to lunch. I’ve declined several times, but I’m running out of excuses.” 

“Whoa. Hold up,” Dean interrupts. “You’ve got some chick hitting on you and you’re just now telling me?” He tries to sound amused, because he is, but even he can tell there’s a tinge of jealousy edging through his tone. “What’s her name? It’s not that Hannah woman, is it?” 

“No, no. Hannah is my assistant. It would be highly unprofessional for her to hit on me. No, her name is Meg and she works in Human Resources.” 

“Isn’t it technically inappropriate for anyone to be hitting on you? Aren’t you like, one of the biggest boss men there?” A sudden image of Cas in his gray suit flashes in Dean’s mind and it dawns on him that Cas is basically catnip for anyone in that building, men and women alike… and he’s  _ technically _ single. Dean’s heart begins to race (and not just because he might have had some of his own very inappropriate thoughts about Cas in that suit).

“Well, yes, that’s true. I don’t actually think she’s hitting on me, but I suppose I can’t really be sure. She’s probably the only person at my office that I would call a friend, though I use that term loosely now that I know what it’s like having real friends.”

Dean smiles to himself knowing that Cas is talking about the people in San Seton. It’s sad that Cas doesn’t have friends in Seattle, but maybe that’s just one more incentive for him to come home. “So what do you think she wants?” 

“I don’t know. What should I do?” Cas sounds genuinely desperate for some advice and it’s kinda cute. 

“Have lunch with her. If you think it’s possible that she might be angling for a date, make sure you go during business hours and to some place busy and close to the office. That’ll make it unromantic enough that you can let her down easy.” He pauses before he adds, “but if you’re going to be staying in Seattle, you should have friends, Cas.”

“But you’re my friend, doesn’t that count?” 

The word  _ friend _ hits like a shot to the heart. “Sure, Cas. That counts. Except—”

“Except you’re not in Seattle,” Cas finishes for him. 

“Yeah, except that.” 

For the first time since their reconciliation of sorts, Dean doesn’t know how he can keep this up. Donna was right - it was so easy to jump on board and agree to sitting on the sideline while Cas does whatever it is he’s really doing in Seattle, but how long can he wait? What if someone does hit on him and Cas finds them interesting? Will he expect Dean to be okay if he dates other people? They haven’t talked about it, so it’s possible. 

Dean shakes the thought away. Of course Cas won’t just start dating other people. That’s ridiculous. Even so… he doesn’t know how he can watch Cas make a life without him, even if that just means making new friends. His heart sinks and he doesn’t realize he’s dwelling on the feeling until Cas interrupts him. 

“Dean? Are you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.” 

Cas lets out a small sigh, like he’d been worried that Dean already hung up. “I was looking at the weather in San Seton and it’s getting quite cold, especially at night. Did you remember to fix the window in the bedroom?” 

A few months back, the weather had been so nice that he and Cas temporarily moved Dean’s workbench from the shed to the yard in front of the house. Cas sat on a lawn chair in the sun and studied Benny’s business proposal while Dean played music and worked on making a new stool for Donna’s store. (If you ask him, Cas will say he was reading, but Dean caught him more than once just sitting there staring at his ass, and maybe Dean took off his flannel to reveal a tight white t-shirt, and maybe he made sure to swing his hips to the music, but no one has any proof of that). They had been jolted from their respective daydreams when Dean lost focus and a loose bolt got caught in his saw and projectiled at their bedroom window, cracking it. Dean fixed it up temporarily but had promised to replace it before the weather turned cold. 

“It’s on my to-do list for this weekend, actually. I’m going to get— wait— did you really check the weather here?”

Cas clears his throat in that sweet way he does when he’s shy or embarrassed. “I’ve checked it every day since I left. I like to know how the weather is where you are. It’s stupid, I know.”

“It’s not stupid.” Dean waits a moment before continuing, giving himself some time to swallow down the sadness that has settled against his chest. “I can’t say I check it every day, but a few days ago I was in Bagyo Bay having dinner with Donna and I checked on my way home. I was driving along the coastal road, the part that you like the best where it’s all open sky and endless horizon, and the sky was so clear and there were so many stars out that I had to pull over. I got out of the car and sat on Baby’s hood, and even though the moon was just the smallest sliver of a thumbnail, I wanted to know if you could see it, too.”

“You did that? Really?” Cas sounds breathless and Dean’s heart skips a beat. 

“Mmmhmm. You couldn’t see it, though. Seattle was covered in clouds. I tried taking a picture, but everything just looked black, so I never sent it.” 

“I miss Bagyo Bay. I fell in love with that place almost as much as I fell in love with you.” 

“Cas…” Dean whispers his name like a prayer. He wants to beg Cas to stop, to not talk about love or their life from before, but in painful contradiction, he’s pretty sure it would hurt worse if Cas actually did stop. 

“How come you call me sunshine?” The question is out of the blue, but Cas speaks softly and with genuine wonder. Dean realizes then that maybe Cas is struggling with loneliness, too. 

There’s another pause before he answers, but that’s okay. Neither of them are in any hurry. 

“I dunno. The nickname just kinda fit you.”

“How do you mean?” 

Dean rolls over onto his side and curls up, breathing in the fading scent of Cas’s hoodie, trying with all his might to ignore the fact that someday soon, the hoodie won’t smell like him anymore. 

“I never really thought about it too hard, but now that you’re askin’, it makes sense. You’ve always been so bright and warm. You make the storms worth weathering and you may not know it, but after all the shit I've been through, loving you has felt like the sun finally coming out from behind the clouds.”

There’s a faint sniffle on the other end of the line and Dean waits for a response. 

“If I’m your sunshine, then you’re my moonshine.” 

“I’m your homemade booze, Cas?” He can hear Cas’s eyeroll over the phone and it makes him smile.

“Shut up. You know what I mean. You’re my light in the dark. When I’m not able to count on anything else, I’ve always been able to count on you. I never realized just how much I needed you until I found you.” 

“Do you still?” Dean can’t help the question. If he was a stronger man, he’d have kept it quiet, but his cracks are beginning to show. 

“Still what?” 

“Need me.” 

“Dean…” 

He doesn’t want to hear Cas’s answer, doesn’t want to hear the words that come next, afraid that whatever they are, they won’t feel like enough. “I need to get some sleep. Goodnight, Cas.” Dean hangs up the phone abruptly and doesn’t give himself the chance to feel bad about it. 

Just before he puts his phone face-down on his nightstand, it lights up with a text message. 

**CAS:** _ I need you more than there are stars in the sky. _

Leaving the text unanswered, Dean puts his phone down and curls even more tightly in on himself, the cold working its way into his room. 

He falls asleep praying that loving Cas is enough to bring him home.


	16. Chapter 16

Castiel wakes up the next morning with a knot in his stomach and for a split second, while he’s still trying to blink the sleep from his eyes, he forgets why it’s there. Then he spots his phone and  _ oh, right _ . Dean practically hung up on him and then never responded to his text last night. He waited over an hour, moping in his own guilt before finally accepting that a reply wasn’t coming, at least not any time soon. 

Checking his phone, he’s disappointed all over again when there’s still no message. 

God, he’s such an idiot. He just keeps screwing up, over and over and over again. He tries to make the right choices and do the right thing but the harder he tries, somehow the more Dean gets hurt. Why does it all have to be so complicated? Dean doesn’t deserve this. Dean deserves everything good in this world and Castiel has been such an idiot for thinking that maybe he could be the one to give it to him. 

When Dean asked him originally why he couldn’t just come home -  _ home _ \- Castiel had decided right then and there that he was going to find a way out of this mess. He was going to figure out a way to outsmart his mother, or at least devise some sort of plan that wouldn’t endanger Dean’s livelihood. But so far, anything he thinks of still leaves him in Seattle and Dean in San Seton, and he can’t ask Dean to wait for him for two more years… right? No, of course not. That’s ridiculous and selfish and unreasonable.

He could’ve  _ sworn  _ that Dean’s probation was supposed to be over soon. It would have made everything so much more bearable to know that there was an easy end in sight, but he’s checked the dates on the paperwork a hundred times and they never change. It’s a taunting reminder that they’re locked into this predicament for two years and Dean doesn’t even know it.

A thousand miles away is the perfect man, full of affection and freckles, and he’s just sitting there, waiting for Castiel because he thinks Castiel is worth the trouble. Yet day in and day out, Castiel fails him. There’s no way out of this that he can see, which leads to the earth shattering realization that he may have to end it with Dean, and this time, completely. He can’t leave Dean with any question that there is hope for them. It will break them both. 

But not yet. He can’t do it yet. 

In countless ways Dean has made him a better man, but when it comes to the matters of his heart, Castiel’s become a much more selfish one. It’s as if his very soul wants to be with Dean in every possible way. The desire is permanent, settled deep within his very bones, so how is he supposed to resist that kind of love? When it comes to Dean, he can’t be so easily persuaded to move on. Move on to what? What is there after Dean? Now that he knows what it’s like to not just love him, but to be loved by him, there’s no coming back from it. 

So Castiel will keep holding on, for as long as he can. 

He gets himself dressed and sends off a good morning text to Dean before he turns the phone on silent and hides it in his work bag. With less of a chance of getting caught with it, he usually leaves it at home, but he wants to keep it close today. 

The morning passes uneventfully, as most mornings at work do. After finishing up a few reports and jumping onto a completely useless conference call, he reaches into his bag to take a quick peek at his phone. His heart nearly leaps into his throat when he sees that he has a message from Dean. Without thinking, he takes the phone out of his bag and reads the text. It’s a simple message returning this morning’s greeting and it’s followed up by a selfie he took in Bagyo Bay. In the picture Dean’s smile is wide and contagious and Castiel knows there’s the hint of fine lines around those eyes, but they’re covered by his favorite pair of aviators. His skin is made golden by the sun and freckles are spattered across his sunkissed cheeks. How a man can be so overwhelmingly beautiful is beyond Castiel’s comprehension. 

He’s smiling at his phone when he jumps at an unexpected knock at his open office door. 

“Why so twitchy? You looking at porn or something?” Meg stands in the doorway dressed in all black, a sly, teasing grin turning up the corner of her mouth.

“Wha— no— I was just—” Castiel fumbles over his words as he almost drops the phone. He’d never look at porn while at work and it’s an offensive accusation, so unless anyone considers a fully clothed picture of Dean porn… ( _ actually… okay, maybe Meg isn’t that far off _ ). 

“Cool your jets, Boss. I was kidding. Besides, I know you’d be smart enough to actually close your door first.” She invites herself into his office but doesn’t sit. 

Knowing his face is flushed, it’s best to change the subject immediately. “What can I do for you, Ms. Masters?” 

“I’m here to drop off the sexual harassment training handbooks. Your team needs to complete the training and you need to sign off on it by the end of the month.” She drops a stack of booklets on his desk and he gives her a pointed look. “Anyway, we’re also going to lunch today and I’m not taking no for an answer. Meet me in the parking garage at noon.” 

Castiel looks down at the booklets and then back up at Meg. “You do see the irony here, right? Tell me you see it.” 

Meg turns to leave and laughs. “Don’t be late, Cassie.” 

“I told you not to call me that,” he calls after her, annoyance obvious in the tone, but Meg just stops at the door and turns around to wink at him before she’s off to bother someone else. 

He was going to argue but Dean’s words echo in his mind:  _ If you’re going to be staying in Seattle, you should have friends, Cas.  _ He’d rather not think about having to stay in Seattle for the foreseeable future, but maybe having a friend wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Plus, it's only lunch during business hours, acceptably unromantic just like Dean suggested. 

At noon, he spots Meg in the parking lot and she waves to him. He had planned on insisting that he be the one to drive but he reminds himself that this is not a date and it doesn’t matter, so he decides not to fuss about it. 

“You ready?” she asks as he approaches. 

He nods and they both climb into her vehicle, Castiel noting the truck she’s driving.

“A ‘95 Chevy Silverado? I didn’t expect you’d drive a pickup, but it suits you.”

“I didn’t expect you’d know your trucks,” she smirks, giving him a once over with an eyebrow raised. 

“I don’t, not really. But let’s just say that I have a newfound appreciation of pickup trucks... and Chevys.” Castiel wants to slap a palm to his forehead for saying that out loud, but it’s nice to talk to someone about his personal life, even if it is only in incredibly vague, meaningless references. 

“Whatever you say, Boss.” Meg turns the key in the ignition and begins to back out of the parking space when Castiel realizes they haven’t decided where to go yet.

“So there’s this great sandwich place that I know of and it’s pretty close. I could tell you how to get—”

“No need,” Meg interrupts. “I already got us reservations. The restaurant is a little ways away and much quieter than anything we’ll find near the office. Their gourmet burgers are to die for. You like burgers, right?” 

Castiel’s palms go sweaty. Why didn’t he think about creating boundaries  _ before _ he got in Meg’s truck? This is the exact opposite of what Dean suggested. He takes a slow breath and thinks about it. It’s still just lunch. It’s not a big deal. If necessary, he can still let her down easy. It’s fine. This will be fine. 

They get to the restaurant and when Meg notifies the hostess of their reservations, the hostess nods knowingly and leads them to a booth in the far back corner. The overall decor is clean and modern, but the booth they’re seated at is quiet and dimly lit. The majority of the other patrons are seated towards the front of the restaurant where there are big, open windows and a large outdoor patio. Castiel gnaws on the inside of his cheek as he nervously wonders why she chose this particular booth.

About three minutes later, he gets his answer. 

“Hey, little bro. Long time no see,” calls a voice from behind Castiel. 

He whips his head around to confirm that what he heard was real, and when he sees his brother smiling down at him, his brain stutters to a halt. 

“Gabriel?” 

“Surprise!” 

“Wha— what are you doing here?” He scrambles out of his seat, confusion and shock making him unsure of how to react. 

“I can explain, but wow, it’s really good to see you, Cassie.” 

Before he knows it, he’s throwing his arms around the brother he hasn’t seen for most of his adult life. When he squeezes his arms, Gabriel squeezes back and Castiel forgets how miserable he is for a second, letting himself take comfort in the embrace of the only sibling that ever gave a damn about him. 

When Gabriel pulls back, he holds Castiel at arms length before giving him a firm pat on the shoulder. “Why don’t we have a seat, shall we?”

Across the booth, Meg scoots over and Gabriel takes a seat next to her, their ease with one another making it obvious that this is not the first time they’ve met. 

“Did you know about this, Meg?” 

She huffs a laugh. “Know about it? I orchestrated the whole thing. You didn’t think I was asking you on a date, did you? Sorry, but you’re not my type.” Meg winks at him. 

“Not your type?” Gabriel quips. “Darlin, you two don’t even bat for the same team.”

Castiel would normally be upset at the unprofessional banter and the brash, candid discussion of his mostly closeted personal life, but Meg has always seemed particularly intuitive anyway and she doesn’t appear to be surprised or even care about the information Gabriel just revealed, so he doesn’t comment. 

Their server chooses that moment to arrive at the table and they place their orders. When the server leaves, Gabriel doesn’t skip a beat. 

“So, little bro. Watcha doin’? How ya been? Who ya bangin’?” He rapid-fires the questions and Castiel chokes on his water at the last one. “Okay then. Well we’re coming back to  _ that _ later.”

Castiel glares at him as soon as he gets his composure back, Meg sitting off to the side with a smirk on her face. “Shouldn’t I be asking you these questions, Gabe? I haven’t seen you in years. What are you doing here and how do you know Meg?” 

Gabriel glances at Meg and she takes a sip of her soda. “Fair point,” Gabriel says. “How about this; let’s enjoy our burgers and you catch me up about what’s been going on with you, and if you agree to meet up with me tonight, I’ll answer all your questions about me.” He has a smile on his face that’s warm and inviting. 

“Okay. I’d like that.” 

Over the next forty minutes or so, Castiel gives Gabriel a quick summary of his life since he graduated from Harvard, answering the occasional questions that Gabriel tosses at him. When it comes down to it, there really isn’t much to tell other than how he moved back to Seattle to begin working at Novak Aviation and how he quickly climbed the ranks of the corporate ladder (more like he skyrocketed to the top thanks to their mother’s unabashed nepotism) to become the company’s youngest Senior Budget Analyst. It was all pretty uneventful and monotonous, but Castiel stops before he mentions Cole… before he tells Gabriel about the events that ultimately turned his entire universe upside down. 

“And that’s pretty much it,” he finishes with a shrug. “Boring. Nothing exciting. I took a brief leave of absence recently to help me manage my stress, but I’m back now.” Knowing that he’s avoiding talking about the most important events in his life, he uses a fry to push around ketchup on his plate, hesitant to meet his brother’s eyes. 

Gabriel clears his throat and glaces at Meg again. She wipes her hands on her napkin and then narrows her eyes back at Gabe. “I’m going to go use the bathroom,” she announces.

Gabe lets her out of the booth and they both watch her leave. 

“Bullshit,” Gabe says as soon as she’s out of earshot. 

“Excuse me?”

“Why’d you really leave for nearly six months? And before you get all huffy, Meg already told me how long you were gone and I don’t buy it for one second that it was for  _ stress managemen _ t. That line has the stench of a Naomi cover-up all over it.” Gabriel leans back against the booth as he sucks lemonade through a straw waiting for an answer. Castiel has always envied the way Gabriel can carry himself so cooly through a conversation. “Come on, Cassie. Out with it. I want the truth.”

So Castiel gives it to him. 

Gabriel listens intently while Castiel tells him about Cole, the fight with Michael, and how their mother was involved in the whole thing. He tells Gabriel that he hitchhiked down the coast and that he ended up in a small town in Northern California, moved in with a friend, worked at a bar, and finally how Michael and Naomi showed up to bring him back. 

“Well shit.” Gabriel sets his now empty glass of lemonade on the table with a thud. “So what’s she got on you?” 

“Huh? What do you mean? I don’t—” 

“Oh please, Castiel.” Gabriel rolls his eyes. “I may have been MIA for a few years, but I’m still our mother’s son. Mommy dearest isn’t above blackmail, I should know. Anyway, why else would you come back? You sound like you liked it down in that little nowhere town, though I can’t imagine why.” 

“Gabriel—” 

“Sorry to break it up boys,” Meg interrupts, “but we gotta get back to the office because I for one, am not a Novak and I have rules to follow.”

Appreciative of an excuse to cut this conversation short, he ignores the comment (and she has a point). He’s always favored his brother Gabe, but they aren’t kids anymore and Gabe has been out of his life for a long time. As much as he may want to tell Gabe everything in hopes that he’d have an ally in all this, he needs to be careful, for Dean’s sake. 

They agree to meet for drinks later in the evening and exchange phone numbers. Gabriel texts him an address and Meg drives him back to the office. She doesn’t say much in the truck on the way back but when Castiel asks, she willingly admits that she’s known Gabriel for a while and that he’s the one who requested that she organize a meetup. When he pushes for more information she just smiles at him and tells him he’s cute. 

Castiel spends the rest of the day struggling to concentrate, anticipation tumbling around in his belly as he tries to figure out why exactly Gabriel has contacted him after all this time. Once he realizes he’s getting nothing done, he decides to slip out of the office a little early. Grabbing his bag and triple-checking that he has his secret phone, Castiel locks his computer and walks towards the door. He stops dead in his tracks when his mother appears, blocking the exit. 

“Hello, Castiel. Going somewhere?” she asks, her voice sweet yet authoritative. 

“Good afternoon, Mother. I was just on my way out. I have an errand to run.” 

“Surely you can wait a couple of minutes.” Naomi closes the door to his office and he steps back, placing his bag down on top of his desk and adding more distance between them. 

His mother has stopped by a few times to see him since he’s been back and he assumes it’s mostly just to make her presence known. As a means of checking in, she generally comes to his office with a pointless question that she doesn’t actually need an answer to, but she usually keeps the door open, wanting others to witness them interacting in order to give off the appearance that all is well. 

Castiel knows better.

“I see you’ve settled back in quite nicely. That didn’t take long, now did it?” Naomi begins to walk the perimeter of the office, looking at the shelves of impersonal objects, things she paid some interior designer to pick out. “Enjoying being back in your office? I must say, it comes with a nice view—” she pauses briefly, “—and a suitable salary to match.” 

“What can I do for you, Mother?” He’s anxious to leave and already doesn’t like where this conversation is headed. The animosity must be apparent in his tone because his mother turns around and glares at him.

“Next week. I’m hosting our annual charity gala and I expect for you to be there.” She takes a menacing step forward. “You will bring a date. A  _ woman _ . If you cannot find a date for yourself, I will find one for you.” 

Castiel swallows as a surge of irritation crawls beneath his skin, making him want to scream. “I’m here, back in my office and playing by your rules. I will attend the gala if that’s what you want, but I will go alone. I’m not bringing a date.” Just the thought of someone else on his arm aside from Dean, platonic or otherwise, turns his stomach. 

“This isn’t a request, Castiel. You still have damage control to manage from your recent little stunt and until I’m completely satisfied that you’ve made the necessary amends, you will keep your opinions to yourself. Until then, find yourself a proper date and get your tuxedo pressed. The gala is this Saturday.” 

With that, Naomi turns on her heel and walks out the door, leaving Castiel stunned and silenced. As anger courses through him, he gives himself long enough to control the scowl on his face and then races home. Working himself up on the drive, he’s shaking by the time he storms into his apartment and begins pacing the living room. He needs Dean. 

Castiel fishes his phone from his bookbag and dials the number he knows by heart. 

Dean’s voice is raised when he picks up the phone. “Sam, I told you I’m fine, would you stop calling already!?”

“Dean? It’s um… it’s me.” 

“Oh shit. I’m sorry, Cas. Sam’s been a pain in my ass today, so I just assumed it was him calling again.”

“Why are you telling Sam you’re fine? That usually means something is definitely not fine.” Suddenly, the frustration in Castiel’s own life melts into the background and is replaced by worry for the man he can’t be with but still loves. 

“Nah. Like I said, Sam’s just being Sam. Anyway, what’s up? This isn’t our usual call time.” Dean changes the subject effortlessly and Castiel lets him. 

“Something happened today and I wanted to tell you about it. I couldn’t wait.”

“Oh yeah? What happened?” 

“My brother Gabriel came home. I saw him, Dean. Remember the girl I told you about? Meg? She asked me to lunch again today and I took your advice and I went, but it turns out that the reason she’s been asking me to go is because she’s been trying to get me to meet up with him, so when we got to the restaurant, Gabe was there.”

“Wow. Umm, okay. Why couldn’t he have just called you instead? What’s the deal with making a whole secret mission out of it? What does he even want?” The skepticism in Dean’s voice is disheartening. Castiel expected him to be more enthused about the reunion with his brother, but the lack of excitement from Dean takes the wind from his sails. 

“I don’t know what he wants, exactly. I’m meeting him tonight for drinks. Maybe he’ll tell me he needs a kidney or  _ maybe _ I’ll find out he just wants to see his brother.” He hopes Dean picks up on his intended sarcasm.

“Well I’m happy for you, Cas,” he responds, but the words are flat and distant. 

“Yeah… thanks.” 

They talk for a while longer and the tension in the conversation eventually dissipates. By the time they hang up, Castiel doesn’t feel quite so miserable and Dean wishes him a good time with Gabriel. They promise to talk again tomorrow so Dean can hear all about it and Castiel hopes he’s sincere. Either way, he makes a note to do something for Dean, maybe order him a pie and have it delivered to the house. It feels like they’re balancing delicately on a tightrope right now and he’s willing to do just about anything to tip the winds in their favor. 

Castiel takes his time getting ready, nervousness settling in as minutes tick by. He decides on taking an Uber to the bar and when he gets there, he sees that Gabriel is waiting for him at a small table towards the back, already sipping from a bright pink drink. He waves excitedly when he sees Castiel. 

“Not gonna lie, I half expected you to stand me up, but you’re right on time, as always.” Gabriel stands and takes the initiative to give him a hug, which takes him by surprise. It’s no secret that Castiel has always been the one most appreciative of affection in their family and hugs were rarely used as a form of emotional currency, but Gabriel has also always been the most understanding of Castiel, so the gesture puts him at ease. “I didn’t order for you because I don’t know what you like. What’s your poison? I’m buying.”

Without even thinking, Castiel asks, “Do they have Blue Thursday?”

“Blue what now? Is that some kind of new fancy concoction?” 

“Nevermind. I’ll just take whatever’s on tap.” 

“You got it.” Gabriel leaves for the bar and returns with a beer that lacks the same rich flavor of the Kansas stout that Ellen keeps stocked at The Roadhouse. Even beer doesn’t taste as good when Dean’s not around. 

With Dean on his mind, Castiel doesn’t waste time with additional pleasantries. “Why are you here, Gabriel? Don’t get me wrong, it’s great to see you, but why now, after all this time?”

“Right to the point then, huh? Alright.” Gabriel takes a long gulp of his drink. “Do you recognize the name Bartholomew Harrington?” 

That’s an odd question. “Mother’s friend? Yes, I know who he is.” 

Gabriel stares at him for several long seconds, as if he’s trying to read Castiel’s mind. He’s about to say something when Gabriel must find whatever it was he was looking for. “What if I told you that he’s been working with dear ol’ Mom to screw over her hoard of loyal subjects and line her own pockets? Better yet, what if I told you that Michael is also involved?” 

“I— what?” Surely he didn’t hear that right. 

“Cassie, I’m here to expose Naomi’s dirty little secrets and when I’m done, I’m not so sure Novak Aviation will still be standing.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Gabriel spends the next two hours explaining to Castiel about the research he’s been doing on the company for the past year, obtaining documents and following the money trails. According to Gabriel, their mother has been working closely with Bartholomew to feed money through a maze of questionable charities and shell corporations, ultimately skimming money off the top through the process. They made it so complicated and hid it so well that it took Gabriel and a hacker friend of his named Frank months to figure out what was going on. Once they got what they needed, Gabriel started thinking of ways to stop it. 

Castiel listens intently and by the end, his head is spinning. He got the gist of it and if truth be told, he’s impressed with Gabriel’s attention to detail and his dedication, even if it is essentially a coup against their own mother. As a budget analyst, he’s never followed where the money goes after it leaves Novak Aviation - his basic job is to make sure that the company always has more money coming in than it does going out, and to look for ways to reduce expenditures - but that doesn’t make him feel any less of a fool for having this all going on right under his nose. 

“Why are you telling me all this, Gabe? How exactly am I supposed to help?” 

“Well, I do need one tiny itty bitty favor. Teeeeeny little thing.” He holds his thumb and forefinger up in the air to visualize his point. “But mostly, I’m here to get you out. I don’t want you caught in the crossfire, so I came to warn you. That’s why I asked Meg to set up that lunch for us. I didn’t want anyone finding out I was here and I wasn’t sure how you’d react if I tried to call you.”

Castiel shrugs. “You wouldn’t have been able to get a hold of me anyway. I found out Mom’s been having my calls intercepted and screened.” 

After Dean told him that both he and Sam had tried to contact him at work before he’d turned on his private phone, Castiel did some digging. Hannah and a few others have been screening all calls going through to his office. He was furious when he found out, but having his secret phone and knowing that Dean could now get a hold of him helped ease the anger. 

Gabe shakes his head and finishes off another drink, looking more relaxed now that he’s had a couple, but he begins to fidget with the little umbrella that came with it. “You know, when I found out you’d gone and disappeared, I thought you’d actually gotten out, escaped the clutches of Mom and Michael.”

“How did you know I was even gone?”

“They called me. Asked if I had any idea where you were or what you were doing. I think at first they assumed you came to hide out with me.” Gabriel chuckles. “So it’s your turn to spill, Cassie. Why’d you come back here?” 

Taking another long drag of beer he prepares to tell his brother the last part of his story, the part he left out earlier at lunch, when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He left his work phone at home, so the only one he has on him is his private phone. He can’t help the smile that spreads across his face when he sees it’s a text from Dean. 

**DEAN** :  _ I’m sorry about earlier. I was kinda an asshole. _

**DEAN** :  _ Hope it’s going well with your bro. _

He feels his cheeks flush and maybe the beer helps, but the fact that Dean’s checking in on him warms him from the inside out. 

**CAS** :  _ Going well. Still at the bar. May I call you tomorrow?  _

**DEAN** :  _ Of course. Night, Cas. _

**CAS** _ : Goodnight. _

His fingers itch to type out the words “I love you”, and he almost does, but he’s got enough sobriety and self-preservation sense left in him to stop himself. 

“Holy shit,” Gabe says, sitting up straight. 

Castiel looks at Gabe and then around the bar, concerned. “What?”

“I should’ve guessed. That dude you told me about isn’t just your roomie. You  _ love _ him. It’s written all over your face. What’s his name again?”

“His name is Dean.” Castiel looks down and uses his index finger to push around the drops of condensation left on the table from his beer. “He made some mistakes when he was younger and he’s currently on probation. He’s a good man - the best, actually - but of course Mom doesn’t know that. Hell, she wouldn’t care even if she did.” He looks up at Gabriel to find that he’s got his full attention. “She told me I had to come back to Seattle or she’d find a way to punish Dean. She has leverage, too. Dean punched Michael in the face.” 

“Oh did he now?” Gabriel laughs with an amused smile on his face. “Huh, I like the guy already.” 

“Gabe… why would she do that? Why wouldn’t she just let me stay in San Seton? She let you leave.” Castiel’s heart feels heavy again, not that it hasn’t been weighed down since he got back to Seattle, but this is a new ache, an added ache. He’s always known his mother lacks affection and demands perfection, but has she always been so cruel? Why would his own mother not want for him what makes him happy? 

“I’m afraid that may be exactly why. She let one son disappoint her and escape the family business, she couldn’t let a second son do the same. And as much as she doesn’t exactly show it, she’s always liked you. You’ve always had a good heart, Cassie, even if you are a little weird at times, and I think you remind her of Dad in that way.”

“That doesn’t seem like a good enough reason to make me miserable and to completely dismantle the life I’m trying to create for myself.” 

Gabriel’s face twists into something that conveys a level of empathy that Castiel hadn’t truly noticed before, something that suggests that Gabriel has asked himself the same questions. “She’s got a pretty messed up perception of loyalty and your happiness is the collateral damage, kiddo.” 

“There’s a lot more to your story than what I know, isn’t there?” His heart hurts for his older brother as the look on Gabriel’s face gives away the answer.

“That’s a story for a much different time, Cassie.” They share a small smile between them, one of understanding and acceptance. It’s the closest Castiel has felt to anyone in his family for a very long time and he grieves for the relationship with his brother that he never got to have. “So… about that tiny little favor… you’re going to the charity gala on Saturday, right?”

Castiel begrudgingly tells Gabriel about Naomi’s demands that he not only attend the gala, but that he bring a woman as a date. Gabriel listens closely and his smile grows wider. 

“This is perfect! Meg will be your date!” 

“Excuse me?” 

“I plan on being at that gala, Castiel. I’m going to expose her in front of all her benefactors. I have other ways of gaining access to what I need, but this is a game changer. I could really use someone on the inside and Meg knows my plan but doesn’t have an invite. What do you say?” 

“Gabe… I… I can’t. If she finds out, she’ll ruin Dean’s life. I can’t risk that.” 

“Come on, baby bro. This is your chance to make a run for it, to finally get away from them. Mom and Michael have screwed you over so many times. You don’t belong here.” 

“Don’t you think I know that?” he says, animosity vibrating under his skin as anger begins to simmer in his veins. “But it’s not  _ me  _ I’m worried about and it’s not  _ me  _ I have to protect. Dean is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, the best person I know, and I will never do anything to jeopardize his safety, do you understand me?” 

Working for his mother, knowing she and Michael are both keeping an eye on him, monitoring his calls, keeping tabs on his whereabouts - it’s like being a fish in a fish bowl with nowhere to go. Castiel’s been doing his best to suppress the rage that burns inside of him when he thinks about it for too long but it’s always been the thought of Dean that keeps him steady, and how  _ dare  _ Gabriel come in here and ask him to mess it all up.

Gabriel holds his hand up. “Hey, okay. Alright. I hear you loud and clear, but what if I can make it so that she doesn’t go after him?” 

“Even if you could think of a way to force her hand, there’s no guarantee that she won’t try and go after Dean anyway. Besides, what about Michael? Forget it, Gabe. I can’t be involved. If Mom finds out… well… I can’t even think about the repercussions.” 

“Give me two days, okay? Can you do that? Two days to try and figure something out. We’ll meet up again on Thursday and if you’re still not comfortable, then I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.” 

Castiel nods. “Two days.” 

***

At work the following day, Castiel spends most of his time unsettled and pacing his office. At one point, Meg spots him and gives him an excuse to follow her down to the mailroom. It’s a few floors down and they take the stairs just so he can try and burn off some of his nervous energy. They keep their conversation routine and don’t dare to openly comment on their lunch from the day before. Although he knows that Meg is Gabe’s mischievous little mole (Gabe’s words, not his), neither of them say a word about it until they’re back at his office.

“Feeling better, Prince Charming?” Meg asks quietly after making sure no one is around. He tilts his head in confusion and she rolls her eyes. “It’s a joke. You know, since I’m your Cinderella come Saturday.” 

“You are  _ not _ my Cinderella.” 

Meg just laughs. “Okay, Boss.” 

“Stop calling me ‘Boss’. And I don’t know if Ga— if my brother told you, but I’m not helping him on Saturday. I— I can’t.” 

“Well, I understand you have a meeting with him tomorrow and I know your brother can be quite persuasive. Give him a chance. Either way, I’ll have my gown ready. In the meantime, try not to wear a hole in your carpet, will ya?” With that, she makes her exit. 

The rest of the day remains uneventful and Castiel’s incredibly thankful when he arrives back at his own apartment where he doesn’t feel so uptight and on edge. He showers, changes into his favorite pair of pajama pants and makes himself breakfast for dinner. To keep his mind occupied, he turns on the TV to find reruns of  _ Dr. Sexy _ on Netflix _. _ He grabs a blanket and curls up on the couch to keep warm against the changing season. At some point during the third episode, he falls asleep. 

His phone vibrating against the coffee table wakes him up and -  _ shit _ \- it’s ten o’ clock and Dean is calling. Castiel missed their usual call time. 

He answers and barely gets out a hello before Dean’s already talking. 

“Oh good. So you are alive. Awesome. I’ll leave you to it.” 

“Dean, wait! I’m so sorry. I fell asleep on the couch and your call woke me up. I didn’t want to call you too early, so I waited, and then  _ Dr. Sexy  _ was talking all low and soft to the mother of a patient who just died and I closed my eyes for two seconds, but that was several hours ago.” 

A frustrated huff fills the silence. “You’ve been saying sorry an awful lot lately, Cas. How about trying not to do things that need apologizing?”

“You’re right and I’m sor— I’ll do better.”

Castiel wants to sink beneath the floorboards and then he wants to tear this place apart just so he has somewhere to put all his emotions. He just keeps disappointing Dean and he can’t seem to stop. His heart rate picks up and his breathing quickens as he waits for Dean to respond. They’re going down a path that seems to lead to nowhere and they can’t keep going on like this. Even if Gabriel pulls off some miraculous stunt, there’s no way he can really offer Castiel any assurance that Dean would be safe from Naomi’s wrath. The best thing for him to do is make sure that there’s no way for anyone to assume he was involved. He needs to keep playing along.

“You still watch  _ Dr. Sexy _ ?” Dean’s voice is calm and soothing and Castiel lets it pull him back to the conversation. 

He takes a breath. “It reminds me of those few stormy days where we stayed inside and watched it for hours. They were some of my favorite days.” His cheeks flush and he wonders if there’ll ever come a time when they’ll be able to spend a day like that together again. 

“I thought you hated the stormy days.” Dean chuckles with amusement and the pure, sweet sound of it calms Castiel’s nerves, like a blanket of warm sunshine staving off a chill. 

_ This _ . This is why he can’t let Dean go yet. He’s not ready. He probably never will be, but how is he supposed to survive the next few weeks without hearing Dean’s voice every night, reminding him why he’s got to remain strong in the first place? 

“I used to, but they were different when I was with you. I liked having an excuse to stay inside and keep you all to myself.” 

The lingering vibrations of Dean’s laugh dissipate and Castiel knows he’s said too much. They’re supposed to be friends right now, not lovers, not boyfriends… just... friends. 

Castiel’s heart breaks for the millionth time and the pain behind his chest feels impenetrable.

“Well it’s raining where you are,” Dean says. “I checked your weather.” 

“Really?” He gets up to look out the window from his fifth-floor apartment. Though the rain is more of a mist right now, the ground outside is saturated, indicating he missed a decent amount of rain while he slept. 

“If you’re up for it,” Dean says, “we can stay on the phone and have a drink and watch an episode together.” 

“I’d really like that. I have a rough day tomorrow and that sounds exactly like the kind of relaxing night I need.” 

“Me too, actually.” Dean hesitates momentarily before continuing. “So I’m going to go make tea and then I’ll turn on Netflix and you can tell me what episode you’re on.” 

There’s clinking noises on the phone and Castiel knows he’s getting down a mug. They make tea together yet apart, and then they spend the rest of the night (and into the early morning hours) commenting and laughing their way through several episodes. 

It’s worth every minute of lost sleep between them. 

***

“You ready, Cassie!? Because boy have I got news for yo—”

“I can’t do it, Gabe. I won’t.” Castiel holds up his hands to cut off his brother, his mind already made up. “I’ve thought about it and it’s too much of a risk. I won’t try to stop you from whatever it is you’re about to do, but I can’t be involved.” 

Before Castiel fell asleep in the early hours of the morning, he knew that there was no argument Gabriel would be able to make to convince him to go along with this plan, no matter how small a part he might play.

“But if you would just—”

“I said no, Gabe. I’m sorry, but no.” 

They’re in Gabriel’s hotel room, a surprisingly modest place outside of downtown. When he looks around the room he feels slightly guilty for having to give his brother such a firm rejection. Gabriel bought them dinner from their favorite Thai place from when they were kids, even ordering the spring rolls with extra peanut sauce that Castiel has always loved. He’s touched that Gabe remembered such a small detail. 

“I really think you need to hear me out first. Come on, let’s eat and I’ll tell you all about it.” 

Castiel opens his mouth to argue back but before he can say anything more, his phone rings. Gabriel throws his hands up and turns to set up the table for dinner, leaving Castiel to take the call. It’s Dean, but it’s far too early for him to be calling, which is concerning. 

He answers. “Dean?”

“Hiya, Cas!” His voice is lighthearted and excited. “How’s things?” 

“Um. Things are alright. I’m having dinner with my brother.” 

“Awesome. That’s awesome. Well, I have some news and I wanted to tell y—” 

Dean’s sentence is cut off by Gabriel shouting in the background. “Come ON, Cassie! Dinner’s ready! We have things to discuss!” 

Castiel glares at his brother and Dean stutters. “Oh. Are you busy?” 

“That’s just Gabe. He’s being quite rude. Please continue.”

“Okay, so anyway, you know how I’ve been waiting for my proba—” 

Dean’s interrupted again when a glass breaks. 

“Sorry! Don’t mind me! I’ll clean it up.” Making as much of a ruckus as possible, Gabriel runs to the bathroom to grab a towel and soak up the mess. 

Castiel tries to ignore him. “Go on, Dean. Please. You’ve been waiting for what?” 

There’s an annoyed huff on the other end of the line. “Maybe I should just call back.” 

“No no no. I want to hear what you have to say. Ignore Gabe,” Castiel pleads. 

The lightness in Dean’s voice is gone when he answers, stale and defeated. “I just wanted to tell you that I had my last hearing today. My probation is over. I signed the papers and everything. Whatever. It’s no big deal.” 

“Wait. What?! You— you’re done? Like, forever done? But I thought—” Castiel can’t believe what he’s hearing. His mind begins to race and if he could have just two seconds to  _ think _ over Gabe’s noise because now he’s started singing while cleaning up the glass and— “Gabriel will you SHUT UP?!” 

The phone and the hotel room get quiet. 

“I’m gonna go, Cas. Clearly you have other things to be worried about.” 

Dean hangs up before Castiel can stop him. 

Frustration and confusion crowd his brain as he tries to fit the pieces together. He stares at his phone, now disconnected from the call, and his hand begins to shake. Did he hear Dean properly? If not, he’s about to strangle Gabriel. 

“Was that lover boy?” Gabriel asks, as if nothing is amiss. “He call to tell you that he’s off probation?” 

Castiel looks up and stares at Gabriel. “How did you—” 

Gabriel shrugs and there’s a grin spreading wide across his face. “I told you I had news for you, but would you listen to me? Noooo.” 

“Well I’m listening now,” he says through gritted teeth. “Start talking.” 

“I asked my buddy Frank to look into Dean to find out what Mom might have on him. Frank informed me that Dean’s probation was up—” he looks at his wrist at a watch he’s not even wearing, “—oh yeah,  _ today _ .”

“So you’re saying…” 

“Mommy dearest lied to you, kiddo. She must’ve doctored the files she gave you, but she can’t touch him now. There’s nothing she can do.” 

“But what about—”

“Michael and the sweet,  _ sweet _ shiner your boy toy gave him? That’ll be the last thing either of them are thinking about after Saturday. Besides, if they want to do that, they’ll have to admit to all the things they’ve tried so hard to cover up.” Gabriel’s smile doesn’t let up, like he’s fit all the pieces of a puzzle together and he’s waiting for Castiel to figure out the punchline. 

“So I can—”

“You can go home, Cassie. You can start your life with Dean. Help me and Meg get into the gala on Saturday and that’s it. You’re done here. Hell, I’ll help you start packing and I won’t even make fun of you for how utterly literal you have to be about it.”

“Literal? Literal about what?” 

“Come on, don’t tell me you haven’t figured it out.” Gabriel’s eyes meet his and they’re dancing with amusement. “San Seton? San Seton is the patron saint of _ new beginnings _ . I mean, can you be anymore on the nose about it?”

Castiel let’s that sink in. “Holy shit.” 

Gabriel slaps a hand on his back. “Yeah, bro. Holy shit is right. So, you in?” 

“Yeah, Gabe. I’m in.” 

He’s still dazed and his heart is about to beat right out of his chest at the thought that he'll get to see Dean’s face again. He’ll get to hold him and kiss him and fall asleep in his arms. He’ll get to feel Dean’s warmth against his body and take Dean’s strong hands in his. After everything he’s gone through, he might actually get a happy ending, something that seemed so impossible just this morning. 

“Excellent. Now let’s eat and start sorting out the details.” 

“On one condition…” Castiel says as they sit down. 

By the end of dinner, Gabriel has agreed to alter his original plans. Instead of forcing Novak Aviation down a path that would inevitably end up in either bankruptcy or potential criminal charges, they’re going to make it so that the money that was initially diverted away from the charities is going to be given back ten-fold, and Novak Aviation will continue to genuinely and publicly invest in philanthropic ventures. Once he realized he would be like a modern day Robin Hood, Gabriel was easy to convince.

Gabriel is going to work out the last minute logistics of it but Castiel feels overwhelmingly satisfied knowing that, at his personal request, a large donation is also specifically going to be made (in the Novak name) to a local non-profit that supports and provides resources for LGBT youth. He’s finally going to put some good karma back into the world and things are finally looking up.

For the next day and a half, Dean doesn’t call him. Castiel leaves a message at one point, but all he receives is a curt text in response. On any other day Castiel would be upset and worried, but with the gala just a short time away and their future essentially dependent on Gabriel’s success, he tries his best not to let the worry consume him. 

He reminds himself over and over again that he’s doing this for  _ them _ , and when he calls Dean next, he wants to be able to tell him he’s finally coming home. 

***

When Saturday evening arrives, Castiel picks up Meg in the lobby of their downtown office. It’s what they agreed upon - someplace neutral and easy. 

He climbs out of the limousine - another stipulation his mother insisted upon while declaring that  _ appearance is everything _ , a fact he knows most wholeheartedly to be untrue - but Meg doesn’t wait for him. She exits the lobby before he’s even done straightening his tux. 

Meg is wearing a long, floor-length black gown that sits off the shoulders and has a thigh-high slit up the left side. Her hair is twisted up in the back and her lips are painted a bright red. Castiel may have absolutely no attraction to Meg, but he can certainly admit that she looks stunning. 

“Close your mouth, Castiel.” Taking her index finger, she gently pushes up at the bottom of his chin. “I didn’t do all this work for you, though the gawking is much appreciated,” she smirks, raking her eyes up and down his body, “and duly noted.” 

Castiel offers his hand to help Meg climb into the limousine, following in after. 

A high pitched whistle rings in their ears. 

“Who knew you both could clean up so good?” Gabriel says from inside the limo.

“Shut up, Gabe. Make yourself useful and pour me a drink, and make it strong,” Meg demands.

Dressed in his own tux, Gabriel gets to work on pouring drinks for all three of them, a mischievous grin on his face. “Cheers, boys and girls.” 

They clink their glasses together in a toast and Castiel takes a large swig. When he’s done, both sets of eyes are on him. 

“You ready to get back to your lover boy, Cassie?” Gabriel asks. 

Castiel is ready. God, is he ready. 

“Let’s do this.”


	17. Chapter 17

From on his back, Dean stares up into the engine of his F-150. He’s holding a wrench in his hand, but he doesn’t need it anymore, not really. 

Most people would look at this jumbled mess of metal under the hood and have no clue what they’re seeing, and even fewer would be able to read the story she tells, but Dean doesn’t just see her, he understands her. Bobby taught him almost everything he knows about cars and it’s a language he loves to speak, simplistic in its complexity. When a car tells him what’s wrong, it doesn't lie or cheat or misdirect, not on purpose anyway. They can be tricky, sure, but they’re patient and they’re loyal. 

Cars don’t break your heart. 

There’s a swift kick to his left boot followed by a gruff voice. “You gotta death wish, ya idjit? Storm’s comin’ in fast and she looks to be a right nasty one.”

Dean grumbles and rolls his eyes at the transmission above his head. “Yeah, yeah. Cool your jets, old man.”

“I may be old, boy, but I’m gonna outlive you by a longshot if you don’t get out from under all this metal.”

Bobby has a point but Dean needs to take a second and allow himself a few breaths to collect himself first. He’s not quite ready for direct eye contact with someone just yet. 

Hiding under a hood has always brought Dean solace when his world gets too loud but right now, nothing seems to be able to quiet the racing, relentless thoughts in his head. Maybe it’s because he’s not quite ready to give up the truck, or maybe it’s because his heart hurts in ways he didn’t even know were possible until today. Whatever it is, the weight of the truck could crush him right now and it would still feel better than the way his chest is caving in on him.

He saw the pictures this morning before Donna called, before she got the chance to warn him. Now the images won’t leave his brain

He’s tried to rationalize everything, he really has, but the questions and the doubt won’t let him be. The photos and the headlines were all over social media and it’s a sure bet that they’re still there, being circulated by the masses. He hasn’t dared to look again. He can’t, not with the way they already consume his every waking thought. 

_ The event of the season  _ is what it’s being called - a charity gala hosted by Naomi Novak herself. The party made the press because of the celebrities who were in attendance, and to flaunt the star-studded guest list like only rich people can, a flashy red carpet adorned the entrance, naturally (intentionally) attracting the cameras. Dean doesn’t usually give a rat’s ass about these kinds of things, but the name of the hostess caught his attention, so he scrolled the pictures until he found what he was looking for - Cas. 

Cas was as gorgeous as ever and -  _ jeezus fuck -  _ he was wearing a tuxedo that was tailored even more precisely than the suit from the company newsletter. Dean didn’t think that was possible, but by the way he suddenly needed to adjust his pants, he wasn’t complaining. Cas looked like he belonged on that red carpet, his blue eyes dazzling in the light of the cameras and his smile as wide and bright as it's ever been. With his jawline cut sharp and his shoulders back, he rocked the look with the best of them (better, if Dean had anything to say about it). Cas radiated confidence and it breathed life into the still shot. He was a fucking sight to behold. 

Eager to see more, Dean scrolled to the next photo… that’s when the bottom dropped out. 

In the next shot, Cas had an extra accessory - a beautiful brunette on his arm. She was petite and pretty, dressed in a long black gown that hung off her shoulders in a sexy way that perfectly walked the line between seductive and elegant. Bright red lips and all smiles, she worked the cameras like a seasoned pro, photo after photo after photo, clutching onto Cas like she owned him. Though none of the sources posting the pictures seemed to be able to identify her, that didn’t stop them from publicly making the assumption that she, whoever she is, is Castiel Novak’s romantic partner. 

The last headline he saw before he nearly threw his phone across the room read:  _ Youngest Novak Stuns Crowd With Mystery Woman - Is She a Fling or Forever? _

It was the final blow, a sucker punch that doubled him over as a dizzying combination of jealousy and longing twisted inside him. 

Dean isn’t sure he can come back from this. 

He’s already been feeling low, hopelessness worming its way into his consciousness as Cas has seemed to drift further and further away from him the more he settles back into his life in Seattle. Never once has Cas even hinted at why he left in the first place or shared any kind of actual plan or timeline for his return. Hell, it’s almost like he doesn’t even want to come back anymore. Then his long lost brother shows up this week out of nowhere? Dean’s not a total dick, but that just seems suspicious and honestly, he’s gotten so tired of being left in the dark about everything. 

All of this seemed so easy at first and he was so sure that he had enough faith for the both of them that they’d survive this hiccup in their relationship. But as the weeks have worn on and with Cas always so distracted lately, Dean’s confidence has been whittled down to a nub. He couldn’t even tell Cas about his probation being over for fuck’s sake, not without Gabriel in the background being a dumbass. He’d been so excited to share the news and he couldn’t even do that without the conversation going sideways.

So yeah, seeing Cas with a woman on his arm at the gala and knowing Cas didn’t even offer him the courtesy of a warning… well… a man can only take so much. 

That’s how he ended up under the F-150. After those pictures this morning and an unwanted sympathy call from Donna, he had to get out of the house before he destroyed everything in it. Even though he didn’t go far, under the truck was the only place he could think of where he could hide in plain sight while he fought back tears and focused on the impossible task of keeping his heart from breaking into a million pieces. And with the shop closed on Sundays and Bobby being completely useless with the internet, he could count on being left alone.

With that storm on the horizon he should really go home, but the last thing he wants to do is get holed up inside all afternoon with nothing keeping him company except those images in his head and his phone that hasn’t stopped buzzing since this morning with messages from Cas, all of them left unanswered. Dean’s not sure he can handle hearing his voice right now. 

A firm hand wraps around his ankle and yanks, causing Dean to roll out from under the truck. After regaining his balance from nearly tumbling off the creeper, he looks up to see Bobby glaring down at him. 

“Boy, I ain’t leavin’ you behind but if I’m still here when the rain starts or you make us late for dinner, you best believe I’ll whoop your ass into next Tuesday.” Contrary to his harsh words, Bobby offers out a hand and Dean reaches up to accept it. He’s pulled to his feet and the wrench he wasn’t using clatters to the ground.

“Alright, ya happy now?” He retrieves the wrench, wiping his hands off on his jeans and then looking up at the sky. It’s getting darker by the minute. He can feel the air growing thick with electricity, the thunderclouds closing in overhead and promising to make good on their threat of rain and what’s bound to be a pretty spectacular light show. 

He’s still staring up at the sky when Bobby speaks again. “Hate to break it to ya, kid, but this truck is whole now. You know that right? You can keep twisting, tightening, poking, and prodding, but you’ve crossed that finish line. Ain’t nothin’ more left to do.” 

Dean knows this, but he doesn’t want to  _ hear _ it. “I know. It’s just that I was gonna— nevermind, doesn’t matter. I’m not quite ready to let her go just yet but I’ll think of something to do with her and have her out of the junkyard soon.” 

“Mmmhmm,” Bobby responds, his tone doubtful. 

Before he can give a proper smartass response, he gets distracted by the buzzing in his pocket. He pulls out his phone to see that it’s Cas and promptly swipes to decline the call, stuffing it back into the same pocket like it never even happened. 

Bobby looks at him with an eyebrow raised. “You’re not gonna take that?” Dean shakes his head. “What’s the matter? Trouble in paradise?” 

“Yeah. Paradise,” he scoffs. “Huh.  _ Right _ .” 

“That bad, huh?”

In place of an answer, he just toes the ground with his boot, avoiding eye contact. 

“Well come on then, let’s get goin’. Jody’s got her famous chilli and cornbread baking for Sunday dinner and rumor has it she’s been whipping up a peach cobbler too.” 

“I dunno, Bobby. I’m not feeling very social right now. I don’t think I’d make great company, so maybe it’s best I stay here.” 

“Nonsense. You’re my son and I speak for all of us when I say that you're welcome in my home and Ellen’s no matter what mood you’re in. Besides, don’t tell Jody I told you this, but I’m pretty sure that cobbler was made especially with you in mind, so I ain’t lettin’ her down on your account.” Bobby gives an authoritative nod and turns back towards the shop to lock up. “You’ve got five minutes,” he calls over his shoulder. 

Dean knows better than to argue with the man and besides, it’s probably best not to be alone tonight, as much as he might prefer it. He heads back to the house to put on a clean shirt and grab his jacket and keys, then hops in the Impala and idles at the curb in front of the shop to prove to Bobby that he’s ready to go. Once Bobby locks the front door and gets to his own truck, they both take off. 

As they pull up to the house, the first drops of rain begin to fall from the sky. 

Dinner is delicious, of course, and he enjoys the time he gets to spend with his family, but he wishes Sam were here. Sam’s been pestering him about Cas relentlessly and checking in almost daily, but Dean still misses the kid and could really use him around right about now, if for nothing else then at least to draw some of the attention away from himself. He’s had more not-so-subtle pitying looks thrown his way than he knows what to do with.

Bobby is the first to get up from the table, comically racing out back to secure the door on his shed that blew open in the wind. While they were eating, the storm picked up and it’s been steadily raining for the last hour, but only in the last ten minutes has the wind really kicked in and the first boom of thunder was heard in the distance. Dean gets up next and begins to clear the table, Ellen helping him while Jody puts on a pot of coffee. They’re still working on the cleanup when Bobby comes back to the house soaking wet.

“Wooowee. It’s really comin’ down out there,” he calls from outside the back door that leads to the porch, taking off his muddy boots and shaking out his hat.

“Don’t you dare step foot into this house, mister!” Jody demands. “Let me go get you a towel first.” 

Dean and Ellen share a secret grin as they continue to wash the dishes. Not many people get to talk to Bobby like that and get away with it, but Ellen and Jody have special privileges and it always makes Dean laugh when he gets to witness those privileges in action. 

Bobby dutifully stays outside and Jody goes to find a dry towel, leaving Ellen and Dean alone in the kitchen. 

“So. You hear from your boy recently?” Ellen’s voice is low and tentative. 

“Don’t think you can call him that anymore,” Dean shrugs. 

“No?”

“I dunno. He was out at some fancy gala last night and he had some woman on his arm and I—” Dean takes a moment to choke back the emotions bubbling up inside of him. This is definitely not the time nor the place he wants to have a breakdown. “I don’t think he wants to come back to San Seton. I think we might be over.” 

Saying the words out loud for someone else to hear hurts so much more than expected. 

“Hmmm. And he told you that, did he?” 

“Well, no, not in so many words, but it’s obvious, isn’t it?” 

“Not sure that  _ obvious _ is the right word here, honey.” Ellen speaks gently but with a tone that means Dean is wrong in one way or another and she’s about to tell him. “Did he call you after the event last night?”

He already feels his cheeks heating up because he knows where this line of questioning is headed. “Yeah.” 

“And what did he say?” 

“Don’t know. I didn’t answer.” 

Ellen finishes rinsing the last plate and passes it over for him to dry. She towels off her hands and turns to face him, one hip against the sink and a hand propped up on the other. Dean can feel her eyes boring into the side of his head. He glances over and meets her gaze for just a moment before concentrating on the plate in his hand instead. 

“So that’s it? You’re going to call it quits on that boy after one picture in a tabloid, and you’re not even going to give him the chance to have a conversation about it?”

He feels frustration begin to seep under his skin. “What am I supposed to say?  _ Hey, nice date last night, Cas. Just wondering… did you sleep with her? Oh, and by the way, do you ever plan on coming back to the boyfriend you left behind? You know, the one who’s still waiting for you like a fucking puppy? The one you promised you’d come back for _ ?” 

Without warning, Ellen slaps him upside his head and although the force is negligible, it’s enough to make him realize he was out of line. She glares at him. 

“Yes, for starters, ” she says without sarcasm. “I swear you're just like your daddy sometimes. You got the heart of your mother, but that bullheadedness? That’s your daddy.” Dean’s jaw clenches tight, ready to bite back, but Ellen must notice because she softens. “Talk to him, Dean. You owe yourself that much. And if after you talk to him, you decide it’s over, well then at least you know.” 

She takes her hand and cups the side of his head, pulling him in and giving him a kiss on the temple. She smiles at him just as Bobby comes grumbling back into the kitchen. 

“Well don’t you two work fast,” Jody announces as she follows behind Bobby, referring to the dishes. “Now, who wants coffee? It’s decaf, but I also have hot chocolate if anyone would prefer that.”

Before he can ask if Jody’s got something stronger, Dean’s phone rings loudly in his pocket. He pulls it out to see that it’s Cas… again. He looks up at Ellen, silently asking her advice. Not needing to hear the question to know the answer, she nods. 

“I’ll be right back. I gotta take this.” Dean excuses himself and wanting privacy, he slips into the garage through the door at the side of the house. “Hello?” 

“Dean? Hi. I’m so happy you picked up.” Relief is evident in Cas’s voice but none of it transfers to Dean. 

“What do you want, Cas?” The words come out clipped and harsh but he doesn’t have it in him to pull back or to apologize. He let Cas tear down his walls, brick by brick, until they settled into each other’s lives together. Dean got  _ comfortable _ and then he got thrown for a loop when Cas left. Now it feels like the rug has been yanked out from under him all over again with no warning. He’s been trying  _ so hard _ to keep his balance, desperately clinging to the idea that they’re still on solid ground, but everything is crumbling around him, so Cas’ll have to forgive him if Dean’s not feeling particularly... forgiving. 

“Um. Are… are you okay?” 

“I dunno man, you tell me.” Except that he doesn’t want Cas to tell him. No, he wants to give Cas a piece of his mind right about now. 

“Listen, Dean. I’m on my—” 

“I saw the pictures.” Dean interrupts, unable to keep himself from blurting out the one thing that’s been haunting his thoughts all day long. 

“Wh— what?” 

He paces the garage in what little space there is between Jody’s car and the stack of crap Bobby has piled up to the side of it. “Of you and that girl.”

“From last night? That was just Meg.” Cas is somewhere loud and has to raise his voice to be heard over the static white noise, some strange rhythmic thwump-thwump sound on repeat in the background. It doesn’t matter much, though, because being in the garage is no better in this storm. The rain is audible from the outside and the wind makes the garage door whine and creak. “I told you about her, remember?” 

“You told me—” He’s cut off by a rumble of thunder. The storm is getting closer and will be directly overhead soon. He really should be getting home. “You told me you went to lunch with her and Gabriel, not that you were going to take her out on a fuckin’ date in front of the whole world.” 

“It wasn’t a date, not really. I can explain, okay? I just wanted to let you know—” Cas pauses just as another rumble of thunder booms outside. 

“Save it, Cas. Just… save it.” Dean’s throat constricts around the lump forming inside of it. He’s not prepared for what he’s about to say but he can’t stop it either. “I don’t think I can do this anymore. I— I think maybe it’s time we move on.” 

There’s a few beats of silence as the thwump-thwump sound continues over the phone. 

“No. You don’t mean that…” 

Cas’s voice cracks and Dean flinches. There’s a car horn blaring somewhere but he can’t tell if it’s on Cas’s end of the line or his own. It’s followed by another crash of thunder that reverberates in both his ears as his vision begins to blur with the water in his eyes. 

“This isn’t your home, Cas. It never really was, was it?” All the bite has drained from his words and he’s left feeling defeated and broken. He just wants Cas to admit that it’s over and that he’s not coming back so Dean can finally abandon their sinking ship. “It’s okay. I understand that now.” 

“Dean, listen to me. Please.”  _ Thwomp-thwomp. _ “There’s something I need to tell you.”  _ Thwomp-thwomp.  _

The sound grates on Dean’s already frayed nerves and it’s fucking  _ freezing  _ in this garage. He’s not in the mood for whatever excuse Cas has lined up. He just wants to get out of here, go home, and be alone. 

“Look, we can talk later, alright? But I have to go. Goodbye, Cas.” 

“No, wait—”

Dean hangs up before he can hear the end of that sentence. 

He leans his back against Jody’s car and allows the tears he’s been holding back to spill over. His breath stutters as he tries to inhale through the painful tightness in his chest and without permission, his legs give out from under him and he slowly sinks to the floor, hugging his knees in the process. 

Several tears fall before he tells himself it’s enough. No one needs to see him cry. He doesn’t need to put his stupid boyfriend troubles on the shoulders of the ones in the other room. Hell, they’ve cleaned up enough of his messes to last a lifetime, this doesn’t need to be one of them. 

Dean stands and composes himself, wiping his eyes with the end of his shirt. Shaking out his arms, he paces a few times to get his composure back, finally stopping to take a deep breath. 

_ Alright, Winchester. Get it together. _

He walks back into the house only to be met with three sets of eyes looking at him expectantly. 

“I uh, I think I’m gonna take off a little early tonight.” He scratches the back of his head feeling obligated to provide an excuse. “The rain is really pickin’ up out there and I gotta get my Baby home safe.” He cocks a half smile hoping that they buy the bullshit he’s selling. 

Ellen comes to his rescue. “That doesn’t sound like a bad idea. I should be heading home, too.” Not wasting any time, she stands to grab her coat. She knows exactly what she’s doing and Dean appreciates the hell out of her for it. 

“Well let me pack you both up a couple of slices of peach cobbler before you go.” Jody jumps up and heads straight for the kitchen to make quick work of distributing the cobbler into portable containers. 

Dean’s stomach dips as a vivid memory floods his brain. 

The last time he ate peach cobbler was with Cas, two days after they met in Bagyo Bay and just after “Steve’s” first shift at The Roadhouse. The way Cas had smiled at him after walking out with Benny and noticing Dean waiting at the curb is a memory that’ll be seared into his brain for eternity. He recognizes now that that smile is the one Cas saves only for him, the one that makes Cas’s face light up in a way that it just doesn’t for anyone else. In fact, that smile might be Dean’s most prized possession, even if it isn’t a tangible thing. That’s not normal, right? In fact, that’s pretty damn profound. 

Cas was so timid and yet so willing to put his trust in Dean back then, and Dean had done the same for him. For two people who’d been so painfully burned in the past, neither of them had any plausible reason to do so other than absolute blind faith, and through that faith they found love beyond any scope he has ever imagined. 

So, yeah.  _ Profound  _ sounds about right. 

He’s an exhale away from declining the cobbler when he notices Ellen looking at him. If she knew what he was thinking (and let’s face it, she probably does somehow), she’d tell Dean not to be rude and to just accept the dessert, so he does. 

Bobby and Jody wave goodbye from the dry refuge of their front porch with stern demands that he and Ellen both drive safely and just before they make a run for their cars, Ellen gives him a kiss on the cheek and whispers in his ear to call if he needs anything. Then, desperate to get home before he has some embarrassingly emotional breakdown, he makes a mad dash to the car. 

The drive home takes nearly twice as long as usual with the way the rain is coming down in droves, making visibility terrible and flooding the streets. Thank goodness he replaced his windshield wipers a few weeks ago. The rubber had gone bad on the old ones and they started to squeak something awful, but the rhythmic and satisfying  _ thwomp-thwomp _ of the wipers is back and it’s— wait a second. Was that the weird noise he heard over the phone with Cas earlier? That’s strange, he didn’t think it was supposed to rain in Seattle for at least a few days. 

He shakes his head and focuses on the road, saving all thoughts of Cas for later when he can have a drink in his hand instead of a steering wheel. The lightning bolts streaking across the sky provide a decent distraction as he makes his way back to the house. When he gets there, he idles in front of the gate for a few minutes hoping by some miracle the rain will give him a break so he can slide the gate open, but he has no such luck. When will he learn to keep an umbrella in his car? He asks himself this every single year and he has yet to learn his damn lesson. 

He braves the rain, opens the gate, and finally pulls his Baby under the awning and onto the makeshift driveway. Someday she’ll have a proper garage and she won’t have to suffer sleeping outside like a common street car, but for now, this’ll have to do. Racing back to the gate to slide it closed and lock it, Dean flinches against another crack of thunder that catches him off guard, his head muddled with everything that’s happened today. He simultaneously wants to get inside and wants to delay  _ being  _ inside. It’s cold and wet out here, but once he walks through that door, there’s no one and nothing to keep him company except heartache, loneliness, and a bottle of Jack. 

This really isn’t how he expected his day to turn out. 

After securing the lock, he turns back to the house and notices a black package sitting on his doorstep that definitely wasn’t there before. He walks towards it and as he gets closer he realizes there’s actually two packages there. Except… they aren’t packages. One’s a suitcase and the other… a backpack.

Jumping up the few steps to seek shelter under his porch, his eyes dart around searching for who might’ve left these here. Surely this is a joke (and a very cruel one at that) because he’d recognize that specific backpack anywhere. Did Cas mail it back to him out of spite? 

And then he spots him - a dark figure standing in the cut out doorway of the tire wall.  _ There’s no way _ … but as if some cosmic power knew he would need to be certain before allowing himself to believe his own eyes, a flash of lightning illuminates the entire sky. 

_ Cas _ . 

Their eyes meet across the yard and for a moment the entire outside world ceases to exist. Dean can’t hear the rain anymore as it beats against the porch’s overhang, can’t feel the bite of the wind as it blows against his face, and he certainly can’t see anything other than the man in front of him, the man who, just moments ago, Dean thought he may never see again. 

Cas steps slowly forward. “Baby wasn’t in the driveway,” he calls out over the rain. “I thought maybe Bobby would be at the shop.” 

Afraid that the wrong words might break open this delicate reality to reveal that it’s nothing but a fever dream, he responds with caution. “I’m back now.”

Soaked from head to toe with his hair matted down and dripping wet, Cas moves close enough for Dean to notice that his eyes are red-rimmed and glistening, though it’s impossible to decipher tears from rain.

Allowing a safe distance between them, Cas stops a few feet away, his eyes never leaving Dean’s. “I came for my hoodie.”

Dean has no idea what he’s supposed to expect here but his heart is racing at the possibilities. Did Cas come to say goodbye? To give his phone back and tie up loose ends? Or could it be the opposite? The tightness in his chest and his wildly beating heart warns him it’s fifty-fifty. 

“Is that all?” he asks. 

Cas’s adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. “And to tell you you’re wrong.” 

Okay. Well this was definitely _not_ what he was expecting. “Excuse me?”

“You said to me that this isn’t my home, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the last few months I’ve spent with you it’s that you’re dead wrong about that.” 

“Cas—”

“No. Let me finish.” Cas is stern yet there’s a hint of desperation there, too. “Right here?” He points to the ground he’s standing on. “Right here is the first place I’ve ever felt truly, wholly safe since I was a child. That door? That’s the first door I’ve ever walked through knowing that the person on the other side of it loves me despite every one of my faults. And that bedroom? It’s the first one I’ve ever shared with another person and the  _ only _ one that I’ve never wanted to leave.”

The rain starts coming down harder as Cas’s words get louder, spoken with increasing conviction as he continues. “But you know what? You’re right about one thing - I don’t actually give a shit about the house. That’s because the house itself was never my home, Dean.  _ You _ were. You still are.” 

Dean’s heart does about a million things at once and it’s working too fast for him to keep up. 

“What—” He’s interrupted by a flash of lightning and he counts -  _ one… two… three… four  _ \- before the crash of thunder follows, each of those seconds in between feeling like an eternity as he prays that Cas means what he thinks he means. “What are you saying?” 

Cas takes another tentative step closer. 

“I’m saying that I love you Dean Winchester. I’m saying that I love you and I want to come home.” 

His chest squeezes his heart so tightly that he nearly forgets how to breathe, but the only remaining functioning part of his brain tells him to wait and keeps his feet planted on solid ground no matter how much the rest of his body wants to float away. 

“Then why did you leave?” he croaks out, barely managing to choke back his emotions. 

Cas tilts his head. “Would it matter?”

He holds Cas’s gaze and thinks about the question. He absolutely wants to know Cas’s reason for leaving. Hell, he  _ deserves _ to know. But the truth is, he doesn’t fucking care as long as Cas is back for good this time. 

“No,” he says simply. 

Cas barely moves his head but Dean registers the nod and thinks maybe there’s even the smallest shadow of a smile gracing his face. “I’ll tell you anyway. Every detail if you’ll let me.” 

He needs one more confirmation, his doubt and insecurity still anchoring him in place. “Is it over? Whatever it was, is it done?” 

“It’s over, Dean.”

With those words, something inside of Dean breaks. The wall he’d been building back up since Cas left comes shattering to the ground and with it, his resolve to maintain composure.

He darts out from under the porch, descending the few steps into the pouring rain and crashing into Cas like a wave on rocks. Their arms wrap around each other and their mouths collide, an explosion of joy and relief mixed with an overwhelmingly intense  _ need _ . 

And it’s all Dean can do not to collapse in Cas’s arms. 

The rain stings cold but he only feels warmth, the heat of their bodies pulsing between them, Cas’s lips like fire against his own. Hands claw at his back and he grasps a fistful of Cas’s hair, and it’s as though no matter how hard they try, they can’t get close enough, can’t touch or kiss or give enough. 

Cas chokes out a sob and Dean holds on tighter, kisses him harder. 

Cas tastes like salted honey and Dean knows that mixed with the rain on their lips are Cas’s tears, and he wants nothing more than to kiss each one away until they both feel whole again. They stop to breathe and all they can do is hold each other, Dean wrapping Cas in his arms as Cas continues to cry against his shoulder. When he eventually pulls back and looks up into Dean’s eyes, Dean sees worry and exhaustion, but there’s a brightness there, too, full of hope and love.

He pushes an errant strand of hair out of Cas’s face before cupping his jaw and rubbing his thumb along his cheek. Cas closes his eyes against the motion and tilts his head back to feel the rain on his face. When he opens his eyes again, they’re shining. 

“I told you I always seem to bring a storm down on you.” 

“You have it all wrong, Cas. The storms are always gonna come, but you? You keep showing up just when I need the rainbow at the end of it.” 

Cas kisses him again… and again and again and again, until they both begin to shiver. Dean reluctantly breaks the kiss and the instant he loses that very effective distraction, he remembers just how cold and wet they are. 

“What do you say we go inside, huh?” He grabs Cas by the hand and leads him up the porch steps where they quickly take off their shoes and their soaking wet jackets.

Dean has every gentlemanly intention to get Cas inside, dry, and warm. After that, he doesn’t care if they fall right to sleep or if they stay up all night watching movies, just as long as Cas is  _ here _ and he’s  _ safe _ and he’s back in Dean’s arms. They have a lot to talk about and Cas might even want to do that right now, which Dean is wholeheartedly prepared to do, too. It just doesn’t matter because Cas is  _ home _ . 

But after he moves the luggage inside and then closes and locks the door, he turns to find Cas standing so close that their noses nearly touch. 

“Dean,” Cas says, his voice low and husky, “Can I be your boyfriend again? Because there are some very inappropriate things I’d like to do to you, if you don’t mind.” 

A rush of goosebumps that have nothing to do with the weather prickle down his arms and his dick twitches inside his jeans. “As far as I’m concerned, babe, you never stopped.” 

Before Cas’s smile can even crinkle the corners of his eyes, Cas closes the small distance between them and Dean is backed against the door, solid arms snaking around his neck and holding him close. The kiss is as passionate as it is soft and Dean lets his hands wander up the back of Cas’s shirt, but even between their eager, heated bodies, Cas is cold to the touch and still soaking wet. Dean reluctantly (so very reluctantly) pushes him back. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I want this -  _ Fuck _ , Cas, I’ve  _ prayed _ for this - but we need to get you warm first.” 

“I’m already warm,” Cas teases as he tries to dive back in. 

Dean ducks away. “I’m serious! You’re ice cold.” 

Cas actually pouts and the look on his face is almost enough to break Dean’s resolve.  _ Almost _ , but not quite, and Cas knows it. “Fine,” he says, his pout slowly turning into a grin. “But you’re joining me in the shower.” 

“Hell yes. Deal.” 

Cas grabs his hand and leads him straight to the bathroom. There’s something about the way that Cas doesn’t hesitate to maneuver through his home again that sends another thrill through Dean’s veins, and he physically cannot stop his own face from smiling. 

Cas glances back at him and stops. “What? Why are you smiling like that?” 

Dean just smiles harder. “I’m just so happy you’re back. You could lead me right off the edge of a cliff right now and I would follow you.” 

Leaning in to kiss him on the nose, Cas just grins back. “Then it’s a good thing I’m only headed for the shower”. 

Cas turns on the water and adjusts the finicky nozzle like a pro. The bathroom slowly fills with steam as Dean steps forward into Cas’s space this time. For a long, slow moment, they simply look at each other, eyes roaming over bodies sorely missed and equally in need of affection. Dean takes the hem of Cas’s shirt in his hands and slides it up his torso with quiet reverence. Cas lifts his arms and even as his head is pulled free, he never tears his eyes from Dean’s. They’re a blue so intense that they hold the entire universe inside of them, the ocean and the sky and all the stars. Dean could get lost in those eyes and he nearly does. The need to get Cas warm is the only thing stopping him. 

His hands move to gently pop open the button of Cas’s jeans and he sinks to his knees as he works the wet material down Cas’s thighs. The boxer briefs follow and Dean shivers at the sight in front of him. He takes a moment to kiss the taut skin of each of Cas’s legs, running his hands up the back of his thighs and over the curve of his ass, appreciating the firm muscles underneath and the way it makes him want to worship every single inch of the body before him. 

Cas is a goodman masterpiece. 

Before he gets too distracted, firm hands grip his shoulders and hoist him up and suddenly, Cas is mimicking all of Dean’s same moves in reverse. Once they’re both naked and still shockingly well-behaved, Dean steps into the shower and pulls Cas in after him. Their movements are unhurried and delicate and as much as Dean might want Cas to fuck him senseless from now until next Sunday, he thinks what they’re doing now might be even better. They take turns washing each other’s hair, massaging soap suds into scalps and shoulders, enjoying the way their bodies move and slide together. 

They don’t say much while they shower but eventually it’s Cas who breaks the silence, slipping his arms around Dean’s waist while he’s facing the showerhead and distracted by rinsing the last of the conditioner from his hair. Cas rests his chin on Dean’s shoulder.

“I missed you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper and just enough to be heard over the running water. 

Dean turns in Cas’s arms to face him. “I missed you, too.” 

Cas lowers his hand between them and runs the tip of his finger along Dean’s cock, brushing against it so lightly that Dean wonders if it was an accident. His dick has been at least half-hard since they were out in the rain and even just the hint of attention to it sends all the blood rushing south. 

Through dark lashes, Cas looks up and their eyes lock. “May I touch you?”

Desire surges through Dean and he wets his lips with his tongue on instinct, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be able to deny Cas right now if he tried. Cas looks the way Dean feels on the inside - like he’s about to fall apart at any second and the only thing holding him together is the scrap of hope that things might actually be okay. 

Dean takes Cas’s head in his hands, steadying their gaze. “I’m yours, Cas. I always have been. And I know we have a lot to talk about, but all I give a fuck about right now is that you’re here.”

“I— I can stay?” 

“Forever,” he says, and he means it. 

Dean doesn’t know who lunges first, nor does he care, but their lips crash together like a wave breaking on the shore and he can’t help the whimper that escapes him. He’s been waiting for this moment and until recently, when he feared he may never have it, he didn’t quite realize just how much he needed it… how much he needs Cas. 

Soon, they’re nothing but a mess of slippery limbs and frantic tongues, touching and kissing anywhere they can -  _ everywhere  _ they can - as their heartfelt exchange transforms into lustful, desperate desire. Dean slides his hand up the back of Cas’s head and runs his fingers through his thick hair, tugging at it to expose the long line of Cas’s neck. Cas lets out a groan that vibrates against Dean’s tongue at the same time he slips his hand around Dean’s wanting cock, the sensation sending a shiver coursing through his body. 

Cas’s hand moves quickly and, not wanting to feel left out, Dean returns the favor. Their breaths quicken and Dean pulls his lips away from Cas’s neck to move back to kissing his perfect, delicious mouth. He lets himself get lost in the taste and the pleasure of it all, but it’s not long before his head drops back and all his focus is on keeping himself upright. He must lose his rhythm, too, because Cas bats his hand away and Dean can’t find it in himself to care, his body buzzing and his knees going weak as Cas works him faster and with more enthusiasm. 

Dean wants to tell him to stop, to slow down, to wait a second. Not that it’s not feeling amazing because  _ goddamn _ , but maybe they should get out of the shower first and take this to the bedroom where they can get horizontal and do more than quickie hand-jobs against the tile. The thought of Cas in his -  _ their _ \- bed again is enough to make him open his mouth to say the words, but nothing comes out because Cas suddenly attaches his lips to Dean’s collarbone and sucks. 

All coherent thought escapes him and there’s nothing he can do but try not to fall on his ass as his orgasm builds. It crests in record time as he comes over Cas’s chest and hand, the shout of Cas’s name reverberating off the walls like they’ve done so many times before, only this time, Cas is here to hear it again. 

“Holy shit. That was—” he pants while his vision comes back into focus. 

“A long time coming.” Cas smirks and Dean stares at him. 

“Did you just crack a jizz joke? While I’m still riding my high? Really?” 

Cas giggles. He actually  _ giggles _ , and it’s the most adorable, glorious sound in existence. God, he missed this, missed Cas and every single fucking thing about him. Having him back is like breathing that first breath of air after being underwater for a little too long, that moment you know it’s all going to be alright. 

_ Fuck _ , he needs to slow it down though, because while reunion orgasms are incredible, the truth is, they still need to work some shit out. Before Dean can go off planning their future, he needs to be absolutely certain there is one. 

But for right now, that can wait until at least a little later. Cas is owed some reciprocity. 

Confident that he can stand on his own two feet again without the help of Cas’s shoulders or the shower wall, he leans in for another kiss and his hand finds Cas’s cock, hard and leaking, but just as he begins a long, teasing stroke, Cas grabs him by the wrist. 

“Let’s get out of the shower first.” 

Surprised and definitely concerned, Dean pulls back, but he feels an instant sense of relief when he finds Cas smiling softly back at him. No explanation is given or needed and Dean nods. He turns off the shower and grabs his towel hanging on the rack. “Stay here,” he says as he dries off, leaving momentarily to grab a fresh towel for Cas and a set of pajama pants for each of them. After returning, he helps Cas out of the shower and runs the towel through his hair, making it stick up every which way, just like Dean loves. It makes him smile and when Cas smiles back, something tells him they  _ are _ going to be okay.

After they’re both dry and half-dressed, Dean goes to the bedroom looking forward to soft sheets and the warmth of Cas’s body next to his own, but when he enters the room, Cas doesn’t follow. He turns to see him stopped at the doorway, hesitation and worry written across his face. Without a word, he reaches out and takes Cas’s hand, kissing him softly on the cheek and leading him over the threshold of their room and into their bed. 

The storm rages on outside as they settle in the sheets against the sound of rain pelting the windows. 

They turn to face each other and for seconds that last for hours, they hold one another’s gaze, breathing the same air and  _ finally _ sharing the same space. 

“I never wanted to leave you,” Cas says, breaking the silence, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “My mother wanted me back. She felt that I owed it to her to maintain her reputation and to collect on her investment. When I told her I wanted to stay here, she used you against me.” He stops and swallows hard before continuing. “She researched you, knew about your criminal record, and she used that information combined with the swing you took at Michael to ensure my compliance.” 

Dean’s heart pounds against his chest. Cas’s mom did  _ what _ ? All this time that they were apart it was his own fault? “Cas, why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped you somehow. We could’ve worked it out.” 

“That’s why.” Cas huffs a humorless laugh. “I knew you’d want to think of a way to stop me, but my mother is as cunning as she is powerful and she has resources. We wouldn’t have stood a chance and I wasn’t willing to risk your safety or your livelihood when all I needed to do was follow her back to Seattle.” 

Dean can’t help it, he runs his hand through Cas’s hair, tracing his fingers down the side of his face. Cas’s eyes slip closed as he leans into the touch, taking comfort as it’s offered. While Cas finds comfort in the physical, Dean takes it from Cas’s words. 

_ Cas never wanted to leave _ . It’s an outcome better than he dared to hope for. The whole situation sucks, of course, and it must’ve made Cas miserable, yet it explains why he left so abruptly and why he was so secretive about the real reason for it. But there’s still one thing Cas hasn’t told him…

“Why were you able to come back now? What changed?” 

Cas grins and before the hour is over, Dean learns all about Naomi and Michael’s shady dealings with some dude named Bartholomew and how Cas’s other brother, Gabriel, concocted some genius plan to take her down. He discovers that Meg and Gabe are actually friends and that Cas taking Meg as his date to last night’s gala was all part of Gabe’s plan.

“I should’ve told you about that part,” Cas confesses. “I never imagined the event would spark so much publicity or that photos of me would circulate through social media, though now that I think about it, that was probably my mother’s intention all along. I was just so eager to come home to you that for the several days after I saw Gabe, I wasn’t focused on anything else.”

“I thought you were getting over me,” Dean admits, not meaning to sound childish, but he figures he owes Cas as much honesty as has been shared with him. 

“I could never,” Cas says, looking him directly in the eyes. Dean believes him. “You know, I was holding out for so long and I was so worried about you giving up on me, that it never occured to me that maybe you thought I was giving up on you.”

Dean’s heart swells. They’re a couple of dumbasses, for sure, but if he’s going to be a dumbass with anyone, he’s glad it’s Cas. 

“I love you, Cas.” 

“I love you, too, Dean. Always.” 

“But you’re gonna have to promise me something,” Dean says, Cas nodding in response. “Don’t ever do that again. If there’s something going on, you tell me. No matter what. It’s you and me now, okay? If we’re in this together, then we’re all in. Capeesh?” 

Cas nods several times. “Yes. I capeesh.” 

“Good. Now can we get back to the fun part?” Dean jumps up and straddles Cas’s thighs as he pushes him down into the mattress. God, he’s missed having Cas between his legs. Bracketing his hands on either side of Cas’s head, he leans in for a kiss. It’s long and slow and perfect, their tongues tasting and exploring each other in a way they haven’t done in far too long. When Dean moves his mouth to the side of Cas’s neck, Cas lets out a moan that shoots straight to Dean’s dick. He rocks his hips down and Cas bucks up to meet him, a sensual grind that quickly turns frantic. 

Cas’s hands claw at his back as he tugs on a fistful of Cas’s hair, bodies writhing between the sheets. Then, the limber fucker that he is, Cas bends his knees to his chest and without losing momentum or taking his hands from Dean’s back, he maneuvers Dean’s pants completely off using only his feet. Dean’s impressed by the move and can’t help laughing a little into Cas’s collarbone, which only serves to speed up the process. 

Dean reluctantly pulls away to grab the bottle of lube stashed away in his nightstand drawer. When he pops the cap, Cas stops him. 

“Let me,” Cas says, a look of wonderment in his eyes. 

He nods and hands the bottle to Cas who sits up onto his knees at the same time helping to position Dean onto all fours. Once situated, Dean drops his head to the pillow and waits for Cas to begin prepping him, finding it hard to sit still against the anticipation of Cas’s touch, but he calms when a gentle hand caresses his lower back. 

“You’re so beautiful, Dean.” Cas’s words are soft yet seductive, like honey whiskey on a summer’s day. “I’ve thought about touching you again since the very moment I left, and for a while I thought it might never happen. And then—” his voice cracks “—when I was on my way here and you said… you said you didn’t know if you could do this anymore…” 

Not wanting this moment to get derailed or for Cas to spend another minute drowning in doubt, Dean scrambles to his knees so he’s facing Cas. He cups Cas’s face with his palms and looks directly into those ocean blue eyes. “Hey, none of that. I was hurting and worried you’d never come back, but I had no idea what you were going through and I certainly had no idea you were already on your way back to me.” He kisses Cas’s lips and breathes him in. “We’re here now, right?” Cas nods his head between Dean’s hands.

“Do you forgive me, Dean?” 

Bringing him in for another kiss, Dean tips their foreheads together. “I already have. I’m gone on you, don’t you get that? You make me happier than I ever thought I could be. I love you more than the drops in the ocean, Cas.” 

It’s Cas who initiates the next kiss, passionate and desperate as he whispers  _ I love you’s _ between stolen breaths, and after several more minutes of clingy reassurances (which Dean is definitely not complaining about and finds more satisfying than he’d care to admit), he finds himself back on his knees and forearms, easily accepting the slide of Cas’s slick finger. One turns to two and as Cas works him open, he pants into his pillow and bucks his hips against the sensation.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Cas coos. “So pretty and perfect.” 

The words melt over him like butter on fresh baked bread and he’s never been so desperate to feel Cas inside of him. “Please,” he begs. “I’m ready.” 

After another excruciatingly long minute and an added finger, Cas finally flips him onto his back in a motion so quick that it makes his head spin.  _ Fuck _ , he nearly forgot how much Cas’s strength turns him on, but the way his cock twitches and leaks against his abdomen is an easy reminder. 

Cas looks down at him and somehow the storm raging outside is reflected in Cas’s eyes, deep blue, swirling with emotion and flashing with passion. Dean is rendered useless under his gaze and can do nothing except stare, appreciating the shape of Cas’s body and the warmth of his touch. The feeling of it all, of having Cas back in their bed and skin-to-skin, it’s almost too much to know what to do with, so when Cas’s cock lines up with his hole, he’s thankful for the glorious distraction. As Cas slips inside him, pressing Dean’s knees to his chest, they share a relieved groan. Waiting for Dean to adjust, Cas begins to work his hips into a slow rhythm. 

Dean’s lost to everything that is Cas - his touch, the way he tastes, the goddamn sounds of Cas’s panting against his ear when he bends down to seal their lips together. It’s too much and not enough. It’s brand new and all too familiar. It’s the stars and the sea colliding and sparking within their very souls, making them come to life.

He tries to stay coherent but all too soon he’s overcome by the sensations. His entire body quivers under Cas’s attention. “Cas. Yes. Oh god, you feel so good.” 

“You’re so tight. So…  _ fuck _ . I’m… I’m not gonna last,” Cas says, already panting and about to lose control.

Dean can feel Cas’s thighs begin to tremble at the way he’s restraining himself. He reaches up to pull Cas down by the neck, crashing their mouths together and causing the weight of Cas’s body to nearly fall on top of his own. He wraps his legs around Cas’s waist and locks his ankles together, urging Cas to move faster. 

“It’s okay, babe. I’ve got you,” he says as Cas’s face is buried into his neck, grunting and letting go a litany of profanity. “I’m all yours. You can let go.” 

Cas lifts his head and looks at him with lustful want in his eyes. “Say that again.” 

“I’m yours.” Dean means the words more than any others he’s spoken aloud before this moment. His heart has belonged to Cas since they first met and it’s mind blowing the way he can feel their souls are connected. It’s beyond comprehension or explanation - it’s cosmic, like they’re meant to find each other in this lifetime and the million lifetimes yet to come. “I’ll always be yours.” 

Dean swears he sees Cas’s eyes glisten before he shuts them tight and takes Dean's cock in his hand. Still rocking his hips, more frantically now, Cas works Dean’s shaft, rubbing his thumb over the head in the way that Cas knows drives him crazy. Dean lets out a filthy moan as he gives himself over to Cas entirely, and before long, Cas’s hand loses its pace as his body stiffens and he calls out Dean’s name just as a crash of thunder rattles the windows. 

_ Cosmic indeed. _

Before Cas comes down from his orgasm, he lifts himself up, determined to use the momentum of his pleasure to bring Dean his own. Dean comes so hard that his back lifts off the mattress while his head falls back and he sees a galaxy of stars behind his eyelids. 

With an ungraceful huff, Cas collapses on top of him, his weight a welcome reminder that this is real, that  _ they _ are real. 

For the first time in far too long, he’ll get to fall asleep next to his boyfriend and wake up to that grumpy morning face and thoroughly fucked bedhead. The very thought of that makes Dean chuckle despite himself and when Cas finally moves to find out what’s so funny, he lets out an uncomfortable whine instead. Unfortunately, the second reminder of their reality isn’t quite as pleasant with the heat between their bodies cooled into a sticky mess. 

“Do we have to get up?” Cas asks, peppering the side of Dean’s cheek and temple with light kisses. 

“I love you, but I’m not falling asleep like this.” With a dramatic groan, Cas rolls off of him. As he does so, Cas’s stomach makes an ungodly growl and Dean laughs at the embarrassed look he gives him. “Come on. Jody gave me some cobbler that I brought home. What do you say we heat that up?”

Dean’s never seen Cas move so fast, jumping out of bed to grab a warm washcloth and returning to the bedroom in record time to wipe them both down. With a chill in the air, they slip back into their pajama pants as they move about the house, Cas pouring them glasses of milk and taking out a plate to share while Dean braves the rain one more time to retrieve the cobbler he left in the car. 

They eat while stealing sacred glances and sharing stolen smiles. When they’re done, he takes Cas’s hand again and leads them back to the bedroom. This time, Cas doesn’t hesitate. 

They get naked and slip back under the covers after he adds one more blanket to the bed. As soon as they’re settled, Cas curls up into Dean’s side, Cas’s arm snaking around his waist and holding him close. Dean squeezes Cas tightly and breathes in the head of hair that’s tickling his nose. “I’m glad you’re home,” he says gently, kissing the top of Cas’s head. 

Cas hums in contentment and mumbles what sounds like a “me too.” Within seconds, Cas’s breathing evens out and Dean knows he’s already asleep, no doubt exhausted from his travel, their recent activities, and the emotional rollercoaster they both found themselves on today. In fact, Dean feels himself slipping under as well, but before he closes his eyes, he picks up his phone. He shoots a text off to Garth, calling in a favor and hoping Garth will be willing to cover his shift tomorrow because there’s no way in Heaven or Hell is he going to leave Cas alone in bed come morning. No fucking way. 

Thank all that is holy, Garth responds immediately and with a level of enthusiasm Dean would normally find concerning, but right now, he doesn’t care. Right now, the man he loves is asleep in his arms and it’s the only thing in the universe that matters. 

Cas is finally home. 

***

The days that follow are spent on cloud-nine and it feels like falling in love all over again. 

Dean spends every moment possible tangled up with Cas in one way or another. They fall asleep each night wrapped in each other’s arms and make a point to wake up the same way, too. (Okay, so maybe it’s because Dean panicked a little too much when he woke up alone that first morning after Cas had snuck out to surprise him with breakfast. So what?). Perhaps they’re a little extra clingy but goddammit, they’ve earned it. As long as Cas is willing, Dean doesn’t plan on letting up anytime soon, either. 

Dean goes to work when he needs to, obviously, and although they selfishly keep Cas’s return a secret for two days, they eventually have to come out of their bubble. On his third day home and after Dean gives her an advanced warning, Cas goes to visit Ellen. He and Cas decided ahead of time that it would be best to keep the full story of Cas’s visit to Seattle just between the two of them, so Cas goes to The Roadhouse with an apology and a not-so-detailed explanation of why he was gone. Ellen’s weary at first but Dean knows she’ll warm up to Cas being back, especially once she realizes just how happy they are. 

Word of Cas’s return spreads like wildfire after that and by the following weekend, Charlie has already managed to put together a sort of welcome home party. Everyone meets at The Roadhouse on Saturday night and they drink until they close the place down. Even Sam and Sarah join in via a video call on Dean’s phone and they’re passed around so they can say hello.

For most of the night Dean can’t take his eyes off Cas, and if they aren’t holding hands or playing footsie under some table, their eyes find each other across the room. It’s amazing how something as simple as a stolen smile can make him feel like he’s about to float right out of his own body. Cas looks so  _ happy _ and every time his delighted, staccato giggle rings out in the bar, it sends a flurry of excitement right up Dean’s spine. 

He’s so in love with Cas that it causes a physical ache in his chest, as though any space he has for love is filled so completely that there’s no possible capacity for more. It’s a feeling so overwhelming that he can no longer see any part of his life without Cas. He sees their entire future together and knows that he doesn’t want to live in a world where that’s not their reality. He got a glimpse of that recently and he’s not about to let it happen again. 

Just as everyone is beginning to say their goodbyes for the night and Charlie is practically using Dean as a fence post to help keep her balance, he looks up to see Ellen talking to Cas in a far corner of the bar. They’re leaning in close to one another, Cas focused and Ellen serious. Cas looks at her and nods before she hugs him and goes about flipping the last of the chairs up on the tables. Dean thinks he sees him discreetly wipe a tear from his eye. 

“What was that all about?” Donna chimes in, car keys in hand.

“I dunno,” Dean replies. It’s probably nothing. 

Chalire hiccups. “Prolly givin’ him  _ the talk _ .” She emphasizes the last words with a drunken wink.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He doesn’t understand. What talk?

Charlie just giggles and sways on her feet, so Donna explains for her. “Ellen was pretty upset when Cas left, Dean. Not ‘cause he left, but because he left you behind. She was worried about you, more than she let on. My guess? She’s puttin’ the fear of God into him.”

“She wouldn’t,” Dean says. Surely he’s too old for anyone to be giving his boyfriend a talk of any kind. 

“She would and you know it. Hell, I already gave him one myself.” The satisfied smirk on Donna’s face tells Dean that she’s not lying. 

“Donnaaaa. You didn’t,” he groans. This is so embarrassing. 

“I gave him the best friend talk, Ellen’s got the mom talk, and it’s a safe bet Cas is gonna hear the brother talk from Sam sooner or later.” 

“Yuuuup! And when it’s time, you’ll get one from me, on behalf of my bestie.” Charlie hiccups again and almost falls over before Donna and Dean both catch her. 

“Alright, weeble wobble,” Donna says. “Time to get you home.”

Dean shakes his head in amusement and looks to Donna. “You good?” 

Earlier in the evening, he offered Donna to stay at their place for the night but she enthusiastically declined, telling Dean that there was no way she was about to go back to their “love nest.” Before Dean had a chance to be offended, Charlie shrieked and announced that they would have a girl’s night. After that, Cas (who already had several shots and wasn’t feeling any pain whatsoever) practically straddled Dean and whispered in his ear that they could have a boy’s night, and when Cas followed up the offer by nibbling on his earlobe, Dean lost all other coherent thoughts in his brain. 

He’s ready to get home, too. 

They take another ten minutes to say their goodbyes, Ellen holding him in a tight hug just a few seconds longer than normal, and they head out the door and into the cold. Despite the weather, they opted to walk knowing they’d be drinking all night, but the warmth of the liquor in their blood only does so much against the frigid chill in the air. 

Dean pulls Cas in by the hip and slips his hand in Cas’s back pocket, kissing him on the side of the head for good measure. Cas mirrors the movement and rests his head on Dean’s shoulder. 

“Did you have a good night, sunshine?” 

“The best. Thank you, Dean. For everything.” 

Cas squeezes him a little tighter and Dean can’t help but to plant another kiss on top of his, this time taking a moment to breathe in the scent of Cas’s hair. It smells like home. 

“Hey, so um… was everything okay with Ellen? I saw you talking to her before we left.” Dean tried not to ask, he really did, but he failed. He has to know if Donna and Charlie were right. 

“Yeah, everything’s great.” Cas looks at him and smiles and they continue to walk. 

“You sure? Because if she was giving you a hard time, I know you didn’t sign up for that and you can tell me—” 

Cas stops them on the sidewalk. He turns to face Dean and grabs him by the lapels of his jacket, pulling him in for a kiss, their noses cold and their breath warm. It’s a long, hard press of the lips, but Cas pulls back before Dean can think fast enough to deepen it with his tongue. “You have a family who loves you dearly and so incredibly unashamedly.  _ That’s _ what I signed up for and it’s exactly what I got. So yeah, everything’s perfect.” Cas smiles and it’s brighter than the damn sun. “Now can we get home? It’s freezing out here and I have a few ideas about how to warm us up.” 

Cas laces their fingers together and Dean follows him home. 

How he ever got so damn lucky, he’ll never know. Cas loves his family and his family loves him. It strikes him even more clearly then that this could really be it - Cas could really be all he ever needs from here on out, and instead of that thought being scary as hell, a sense of peace and certainty washes over him. 

It gives him an idea. 

***

Over the next few weeks, they fall back into their old routine. Cas begins working with Ellen at The Roadhouse again, oftentimes meeting up with Benny afterwards to discuss the plans for his restaurant, and with the F-150 up and running, Dean spends his spare time working in his shed. He stopped woodworking altogether when Cas left, so he’s finally getting back to finishing the desk, and he even has a commission - one of Donna’s customers loved the unique design of her new stool and Donna got them in touch. Dean’s now making a bench for the woman’s garden. 

It feels pretty damn good now that things are falling into place, but there’s still one… no, two things he needs to do. 

It’s a rare Friday night in that Dean has tomorrow off, which doesn’t happen often, and he plans to make the best of it. He sent Ellen a text earlier in the day and asked her to send Cas home an hour early. He half expected to be chastised for it, but Ellen agreed without much fuss. 

Right on time, Cas walks through the front door. 

“Hiya, sunshine.” 

“Hello, Dean.” Cas smiles and immediately walks over for a soft kiss. “Ellen sent me home a little early and I’m so glad it’s the weekend. What do you want to do tonight? Dinner? A movie?” 

“Actually, I was wondering if you’d be willing to take a drive with me? There’s something I want to show you.” He doesn’t know why he suddenly feels nervous because he’s been thinking about this for awhile now, but his nerves are calmed slightly when Cas looks at him in a way that is so full of trust and adoration that it makes Dean’s cheeks flush. 

“Of course, Dean,” Cas replies without question or hesitation. “I’d like to change first, if you don’t mind. Is there a dress code for where we’re going?” 

“No dress code. Just get comfortable and bring a jacket.”

Fifteen minutes later and they’re on the drive to Bagyo Bay, Cas sitting in the middle of the bucket seat with his hand on Dean’s thigh. Ever since Cas got back, if there’s an opportunity for them to be touching, they take it, and Dean doesn’t want it any other way. He maneuvers his Baby through the trees and along the coastal cliffs, hugging the turns and enjoying the view. Cas doesn’t ask where they’re going and they don’t talk much, contentment and the radio keeping them company enough.

The first stop is Donna’s. She’s not working tonight, so Dean tells Cas to wait in the car while he runs inside to pick up the bag of taffy he asked her to set aside - a mix of nothing but their most favorite flavors. When he gets back in the car, he tosses Cas a piece and puts the rest in the backseat before pulling back out onto the road. Cas watches out the car window, content to go anywhere with Dean, and that level of trust makes his heart full and gives him the confidence to keep driving. 

It’s not until he drives the car past their normal turnoff for Seabreeze Point that Cas sits up. Dean continues driving for a while before eventually turning left onto a road that most people would miss entirely unless they knew what they were looking for. Cas still doesn’t question him.

After winding along a narrow, unpaved road, he pulls up to a familiar gate. He stops the car and leaves it in park while he gets out. Cas follows. Taking a few tools from his back pocket, Dean begins to pick the lock on the gate. From the corner of his eye, he sees Cas looking around nervously.

“Dean? Can we drive here? Are you… are you picking that lock?” There’s an anxious tone to his voice and the way his eyes grow wide when Dean just smiles at him is crazy cute. 

“It’s okay, Cas. Trust me.” The lock clicks open and Dean unravels the chain that holds the gate in place, swinging it open wide enough for Baby to get through. “Come on, let’s get back in the car.” 

They continue driving and it’s only a few seconds later that the ocean comes into view before them, vast and majestic, revealing that the road has taken them out onto another cliff. Dean parks the car and this time, he turns off the engine. 

In front of them, standing tall and beautiful though relatively small, is a cylindrical, cream colored building. It’s old and weathered, yet well kept and cared for. Dean looks over and is pleased when he sees Cas leaning forward and craning his neck trying to see the top of the building from his seat in the car. 

He gets out and Cas follows his lead. Then he pops the trunk and removes a cooler, a backpack, and a thick blanket.

“What is all this? Where are we?” Cas asks, taking the blanket that Dean holds out for him to hold. 

“This is the Bagyo lighthouse. Follow me.” He locks the car and heads down a short path that leads to the base of the lighthouse. “That over there,” he adds, pointing to a small structure off to their right, “is the old lightkeeper’s quarters, but no one lives there anymore. It’s mostly just used for storage now.” Cas follows his gaze and nods as Dean digs into his pocket for a key, unlocking the door to the lighthouse. 

“Dean,” Cas whispers even though no one else is around. “Where are we going?” 

“To the top. Come on, I’ll show you.” He grins wide and the shocked expression crossing Cas’s face makes him feel a little wild and reckless again, but in the best way (and definitely not in the about-to-be-arrested-for-a-felony kind of way). 

He holds the door open for Cas and follows him inside, closing and locking it behind them. Leading them over to a steep, winding staircase, Dean begins to ascend the steps. 

“Are we supposed to be here?” Cas asks, clearly becoming more worried but still willing to follow. 

“Nope.”

“Deaaaannnn.” 

“It’s fine, Cas. I promise, just trust me. I’ll explain everything at the top, but right now, you’ll want to save your breath. It’s a long climb.” 

Maybe it’s even longer than he remembers, either that, or he really needs to start exercising again because once they reach the top, he’s sweating and out of breath. Cas is panting, too, but he’s faring far better, the showoff. 

The staircase drops them off in a small room at the very top with the actual light raised above them. Then they ascend one more small set of steps that leads directly up to the beacon.

“Here we are.” Dean sets down the cooler and drops the backpack from his back as Cas looks around in awe. 

“This is gorgeous. I can see so far!” 

“Let me show you the best part.” He takes Cas’s hand and opens another door leading to an outdoor platform that circles the beacon. The wind is strong outside and there’s a chill to the air, but it’s fresh and smells of saltwater and jasmine. He walks Cas around the perimeter and Cas squeezes his hand the entire time. 

“Okay now, tell me for real. Can we be here?” Cas asks, turning to look at Dean, his hair already windswept and sexy as hell. 

“So you know that old grump that you see at The Roadhouse all the time? Rufus? He was at the bonfire, too.” He waits for Cas to nod his confirmation. “Anyway, he operates this lighthouse. He has since before I was even born. I started sneaking up here when I was a teenager. Learned how to pick the lock and everything. He caught me a couple times and chewed me out, but he never told Ellen or Bobby and he never changed the locks, so I figured that was as good as having his permission.” 

Cas shakes his head but smiles. “You were so much more adventurous than I ever was.”

“I’m glad you see my delinquency as being adventurous,” he says through a laugh. “Now let me set up. I brought our dinner.” 

He quickly leaves to grab an old, tattered blanket from the corner of the room that sits below the beacon, returning to lay it down on the platform outside. He instructs Cas to take a seat on the blanket as he pulls sandwiches and chips out of the cooler, handing them to Cas to hold. Then, from the backpack, Dean takes out their reusable water bottles and sits himself down.

Best damn view in the entire West Coast, if you ask Dean. 

They sit and eat in shared, comfortable silence, their feet dangling over the edge of the railing. When he chances a glance at Cas he seems happy, and that brings Dean an overwhelming sense of peaceful joy. Once their sandwiches are nearly finished, it’s Dean who breaks the silence. 

“I used to come up here when the world got too loud, or when I couldn’t handle what it was throwing at me.” Dean looks down at his feet swinging back and forth, his heart fluttering wildly in his chest. He’s about to tell Cas his most well kept secret, and it’s kind of a big deal. “I’d hide out here for hours. Even fell asleep once. That was the first time Rufus caught me and I thought he was going to kill me, but he didn’t. After that, I just kept coming back. He’d always get mad and I’d always apologize and promise never to do it again. It sorta became an unspoken thing between the two of us, ya know?”

“You ever bring Sam up here? Oh! I bet you brought your dates, huh? Dean Winchester’s secret makeout spot.” Cas bumps his shoulder in jest. “Is that why you brought me here? You tryin’ to get into my pants, Winchester?” 

Dean turns to look at him and whatever expression Cas sees on his face makes Cas’s amused smile fade into a look of reverence. 

“I’ve never brought a single person up here, not even Sam,” Dean confesses. “As far as I know, Rufus and I are the only ones who’ve seen the inside of this lighthouse in over a decade. I wanted a place that was just mine and no one else’s, a place I could escape to. So, no - no brothers or best friends or dates. Not one.”

“Dean?” Cas says softly, the teasing gone from his voice. “Why’d you bring  _ me _ here?” 

He takes a deep breath. Here it goes. 

“I always promised myself that the only time I’d ever share this place with another living soul would be when I found someone who I knew would keep its secrets right along with me; someone who I could trust with the most intimate parts of myself.” He looks Cas in the eyes and tries his best to convey the meaning behind his words. “Turns out, that person also happens to be the same person who made it obsolete in a way.” 

“I don’t understand.” Cas tilts his head in that perfect little way that he does and Dean’s heart wants to burst wide open right here and now.

“I haven’t been here since I met you, Cas. Even before we became boyfriends, you brought something into my life that I’ve never had before - you brought me peace. I can’t exactly explain it, but when I’m with you, the world doesn’t seem so loud. Even when it feels overwhelming, you make me believe that I can handle it, and if I can’t, I know you’ll be there to help me. You’ve even made my nightmares disappear.” Dean’s throat tightens as his eyes begin to water. “I’ve felt so alone for so long, but you showed up and you filled this void in me that I thought would be empty forever. I don’t know how to thank you for that, Cas, except by sharing this one thing with you. That’s why I wanted to bring you here.” 

A single tear slips from his eye and just as he’s about to brush it away, Cas does it for him, swiping a gentle finger up his cheek. When Dean looks, he can see that Cas’s eyes are watering, too. 

“I’ll keep all your secrets, Dean,” Cas whispers, and they tip their foreheads together to share this silent promise between them. 

“You amaze me more and more every single day, you know that?” Cas continues quietly, taking his hand and holding it tight. “I stopped wondering awhile ago how that’s even possible. The truth is, you’re the one who saved me, remember? I’d be lost without you. I don’t even know how it all happened. Maybe it’s the magic of the bay or maybe it’s fate, but I believe in my very soul that we were meant to find each other, and I thank the stars every night for you.”

“I love you, Cas. More than there are drops in the ocean.” 

“I love you, too. More than there are stars in the sky.” 

Cas leans in and kisses him and Dean knows he can get lost in that kiss forever, but before forever happens, Dean pulls back.

“There’s one more thing.” He digs into his backpack and fishes out a small wooden box. “I had plans to give this to you before… well, just before. I’d still like you to have it, if you want it, of course.” 

Pinching his eyebrows together, Cas tilts his head again (and  _ goddamn _ , will that ever not be the most adorable thing in the universe?). Dean hands him the box and Cas opens it carefully, pulling out a key attached to a rainbow keychain. “Are you proposing to me, Dean?” His smile is playful but there’s a hint of confusion there too. 

He can’t help the laugh that escapes him. “Trust me, Cas, when I propose to you, you won’t have to ask that question.” They smile at each other as something unspoken passes between them. Dean has to shake his head to get his mind back on track. “That’s the key to the F-150. I want you to have it. Plus, I figured you’d need a car eventually and you’ve said how much you like the truck, so I just thought—”

Cas cuts him off with a thank you hidden between a series of excited kisses. “This… is the nicest… most thoughtful… most incredible gift… anyone… has ever… given to me.” Dean giggles through every single one and Cas finally sits back. “Are you sure you want me to have it?” 

“It’s just a beat up old truck, Cas. I could sell her, but—” 

With a dramatic gasp, Cas holds the keys to his chest and leans away looking affronted. “Don’t you dare talk about my truck like that. She’s perfect and she was built by your hands. She’s a masterpiece.” 

Dean laughs even harder this time and he can feel the way his cheeks heat up even against the cold air, joy radiating through his body ten-fold when Cas holds up the keychain and raises an eyebrow in question. “The rainbow keychain reminded me of you,” Dean explains. “It stays with the truck keys. It’s a packaged deal, non-negotiable.” 

Cas’s eyes dazzle with amusement and they spend the next several minutes kissing, their noses getting colder as the sun sinks lower into the horizon. Just before sunset, Dean covers them in the blanket he brought and pulls out a thermos from the backpack. They watch the sunset huddled together, sipping hot chocolate, and not daring to move even after the sun does down. If Cas is like Dean, then he’s thinking about how he never wants this moment to end. 

“Hey, Cas?” He asks as stars begin to freckle the night sky. 

“Hmm?” 

“Is… is that something you’d maybe want in the future? We’ve never really talked about it.” Dean’s staring out at the ocean when Cas removes his head from Dean’s shoulder and looks up at him. “Marriage, I mean,” he finishes. 

Cas pauses before he answers. “That’s not really something I’ve ever had the luxury to consider before. I never thought it was in the cards for me.” For the first time in weeks, Dean’s heart sinks before Cas caresses his face and then holds it between his hands, forcing Dean to look him in the eyes. “But that was before I met you. You changed everything for me, Dean, and now all I can see in my future is you. I very much hope to call you my husband some day.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean says, clearing his throat, the emotion of Cas’s response completely unexpected but not at all unappreciated. “Good. That’s good.” 

Cas just smiles lovingly and then nestles back into Dean’s side. 

They stay up for a few more hours talking about everything and nothing. Huddled under the blanket and using each other for support, they eventually fall asleep.

When Dean wakes up, Cas is snoring softly in his lap, curled tightly into a ball against the cold, and as dawn breaks across the water and the morning light glistens off the world before him, Dean feels like he’s truly waking up to a new life - a life he’s never been more excited to live. 

With Cas next to him, the seas are calm, the journey promising, and there will always be a rainbow at the end of every storm. 

This he knows with more certainty than drops in the ocean.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so so so much for reading and for sticking it out with this slowest of slow burns! From the bottom of my heart, I hope you enjoyed your time spent in this verse. 
> 
> Come find me on Twitter with the same handle! 
> 
> Stay safe. Be kind to each other. Tell your friends you love them. And always remember... Destiel is canon.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Under the Surface](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28724460) by [gwenwifar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwenwifar/pseuds/gwenwifar)




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